Dreams of Grey
by Mizuki1988
Summary: PostDH, not epilogue friendly. Hogwarts once again provides the grounds of a new relationship, as Draco works hard to rebuild it and Hermione works even harder to figure out what is it really that she wants from life.
1. Prologue

* * *

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki  
_

**Prologue**

* * *

The once beautiful gardens surrounding Malfoy Manor now looked gloomy and unkept. Draco watched them from his room, thinking that it was perhaps the saddest view he had ever seen. Or, at least, dangerously close to Dumbledore's broken body as he plead for his death, which was still definitely at the top of the list. 

He closed his eyes, trying to fight the wave of unpleasant memories that always accosted him when he remembered some detail from the last two years. The two years that would be forever marked as Draco's brutal introduction into some sort of sick version of adulthood. Now that it was over and the Dark Mark on his arm had faded to a white, disgusting scar, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

The feeling was, unfortunately, short-lived. In a post-war wizarding world the Ministry of Magic, finally stripped of its bigotry, wasn't going to be fooled by money or connections and the Malfoys were to receive their punishment.

Draco turned back from the window and surveyed the room he'd occupied for all of his life. It was the last night he would spend here, as he would be moving to Hogwarts for the next couple of months. It was also the last night he would see his father for the next five years.

Surprisingly, it had been Potter – the golden boy of wizarding Britain – who had put his two Knuts into the Malfoy trials, ensuring that they would be fairly judged and providing inside information that cleared their names at least a little bit. Thanks to Scarhead his family would survive – scarred, yes, but whole all the same.

Lucius' lifelong Azkaban sentence had been reduced to five years, which he had received without any emotion and a silent acceptance. Narcissa, who had been terrified of the possibility of exile into the Muggle world, had almost wept with relief when her punishment was changed to a five-year-long house arrest. And, finally, Draco's ten years worth of imprisonment had surprisingly turned into an obligatory contribution to restoring whatever had been destroyed during the war. He was starting the next day with Hogwarts, which had lost some of its impressiveness after the last battle.

The Malfoy family also had to pay a horrendous fine which, according to the Daily Prophet, took half of their fortune. It was of course utter rubbish, as most of the Malfoy inheritance was carefully hidden from any records and probably exeeded many a person's imagination, but it was still a considerable sum.

Unsurprisingly, they hadn't complained.

The second Voldemort war had changed the goings inside of Malfoy Manor. Before, the three of them had lived in separate wings of the house, meeting occassionally and mostly only at meals. Yes, they had loved each other, but in that aristocratic, off-hand kind of way. The last two weeks, on the other hand, his parents slept in one of the rooms next to his, not once complaining about its inaccuracy when compared to the master bedroom. They had also spent most of those two weeks together in the drawing room, alternatively talking, reading or just sitting, enjoying each other's presence.

It was kind of tragic, in a sense, Draco supposed. This was the last time they would spend together for the next half of a decade. While he could visit or live with his mother without any problems, visits to Azkaban were generally restricted and the prisoners could only have one visitor at a time.

There was a sudden crack and a house elf Apparated in front of him.

'Master Lucius is wanting Master Draco at the dining parlor' it informed him, bowing so low that its nose touched the floor. Draco pushed himself away from the windowsill and wordlessly went to the door, ignoring the Disapparating elf. As he walked, his eyes roamed the poorly lit hallways, not stopping to look at his ancestors, glaring at him from their frames.

He'd always been immensely proud of his home. It was a magnificent, old and extremely rich building, almost screaming of the Malfoy pureblood heritage and old money. And now? What had it been reduced to? A symbol of evil, the Headquarters of the Dark Lord, nothing more than an icon of his tyranny and terror. Every room was in some way tainted by his presence, every corridor held a sign of the Malfoys' ultimate humiliation.

Draco, with considerable difficulty, suppressed the rage that swelled inside of him. It was not the time to be thinking about it, really. He had all the time in the world to be furious with his life, but now was not the right moment.

He entered the dining room, the very same that had been used by the Dark Lord as a meeting place. It took all of his will-power not to glance upwards, at the ceiling that had been countlessly used as a hanger for victims. It had been Aunt Bellatrix' idea – a particularly amusing one, according to the Dark Lord, although Draco could never quite see its hidden beauty.

His parents were seated at the table, engaged in conversation. Upon his entrance they looked up and smiled at him. Draco suspected that he would never grow accustomed to the change it brought to his father's face. He looked not imposing and intimidating, but pleasant and handsome and it made Draco's chest clench at the thought that as of tomorrow he would be confined to that dreadful island.

'Sit down, Draco' his mother said warmly. 'We waited for you to begin.'

He obeyed and the house elves immediatelly provided them with a fancy dinner. They ate in silence, enjoying the wonderful meal. It was during second course when the quiet was disturbed by Narcissa's sudden cry.

Draco's eyes snapped to his mother and, to his horror, he saw that she had dropped her fork and was now holding back sobs. Her beautiful face was marred by a grimace of grief and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

'Cissy?' his father asked tentatively.

His wife's sobs became louder and she put her hands over her mouth in a desperate try to appear more dignified. Draco watched as she slowly fell apart, hiccoughing and hyperventilating into her husband's shoulder, who had moved from his chair and pulled her into an embrace.

His eyes were stinging and he felt as if he shouldn't be witnessing this intimate scene between his parents, but he couldn't look away. He clenched his hands around the silver fork and knife, holding onto them in a vain attempt to keep from being a wimp. Despite his best efforts, though, a couple of tears escaped and fell. He didn't even bother wiping them away as he stared at his parents and thought that it would never be the same again.

The next morning, when the Aurors came to collect his father, none of the Malfoys showed any signs of emotion.

* * *

**A/N: **Hello there:D This is my first attempt at a HermioneDraco story, so please be gentle with me. I would really appreciate some constructive criticism and if you see any mistakes please inform me. I am Polish, therefore English is not my first language and I'm prone to linguistic imperfections xD

**Edit:** As of September 13th I have a beta - the wonderfully fast and efficient Kazfeist :)


	2. Chapter One

* * *

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter One**

* * *

The small suburban house hardly looked threatening, but at that moment it filled her heart with dread. She crossed the well-manicured lawn, clasping her hands together, the magnitude of her nervousness burning inside of her chest.

It was one of these lovely, fresh and sunny Sundays when you began the day with a smile and thought the world must be a really wonderful place if it could provide you with such a fine, inspiring weather. The inhabitants of this house fell into that category of people, if the heartfelt laughter coming from the salon was any indication.

Hermione Granger, however, didn't share their enthusiasm for this particular Sunday afternoon. In fact, she really wanted to be anywhere but here, in anytime but now.

This was the house where she'd left her parents before setting off on the mission that was to bring He Who Must Not Be Named down. In the end, despite many close calls, the mission had been a success. Now that Voldemort was dead and his Death Eaters either in Azkaban or following in their master's footsteps, Hermione's parents were no longer in danger.

This was the reason why she stood in front of the entrance door in Muggle clothes, her wand neatly hidden inside of her sleeve. It was time to restore their memories and for Wendell and Monica Wilkins to transform back into Mark and Yvonne Granger.

So she'd Apparated to the outskirts of Canberra, and made her way along the mostly deserted street, drawing curious glances from the few passers-by. She grimaced, thinking that it perhaps hadn't been the brightest idea to wear only a long-sleeved jumper when it was twelve degrees Centigrade outside.

She'd forgotten that it was winter in Australia.

She shivered a bit, but didn't make a move to ring the bell. She stared, unblinking, at the golden, engraved badge with her parents' fake names.

She must have looked quite a sight with her hair flying all around her head and standing foolishly in front of a door. She didn't care – all her attention was on the fact that she was about to open the Pandora's box.

It had taken her some time to realize that bewitching their minds and moving them across the globe hadn't been the best way to ensure their safety. Yes, it was effective in many ways – they were not only removed from England and not available for questioning about her Muggle-born status or whereabouts, but also unable to confirm any connection to her person via various magical methods – but in the end it created a problem of a different nature.

Once the enchantment ended her parents would lose any remaining trust they might have still had for her.

On a logical level, Hermione understood that being Muggle parents to a witch was not the lightest of tasks and that your daughter having possibly dangerous powers you couldn't begin to comprehend would vex even the most loving parent. However, deep down inside she'd always felt hurt by the distrust that showed on their faces whenever she mentioned anything related to Hogwarts or magic. So she had gradually distanced herself from them, which didn't prove to be all that difficult – she did, after all, attend a boarding school – and the rift between them had gotten increasingly larger as Voldemort's second rise to power turned into an outright war.

And now, years later after she'd received her first owl, she was about to prove all of her parents' suspicions to be spot on.

She took a deep breath and knocked.

Her father answered her. He looked just as she remembered him – brown receding hair, reading glasses, dark brown eyes and the beginnings of a pot belly.

He smiled at her politely. 'Hello. Can I help you?'

She felt prickling in her eyes and hastily blinked the tears away. 'Erm, yes. My name is Hermione Granger. I need to speak to you and your wife... May I come in?'

Slightly bewildered, her father let her in, lead her to the living room and seated her across from himself and his wife. Hermione took the sight in and almost collapsed under the wave of sadness that hit her.

'Miss... Granger, was it?' asked her father. 'What did you want to talk about?'

Hermione didn't answer. She focused on her mother, looking at her wavy brown hair, round, slightly lined face and the permanently curious look in her honey-coloured eyes.

'I'm sorry' she said.

Then she took her wand out of her sleeve and pointed it at them, her face screwed in concentration.

'_Finite incatatem._'

And all hell broke loose.

* * *

'Oi, Hermione!'

She turned around and saw Ron heading towards her with a foolish grin on his face. He stopped in front of her and wordlessly planted a sloppy kiss upon her lips.

'You're back already?'

She nodded, forcing a smile. 'Yes.'

'Good. Mum's just finished making dinner, come on.'

She followed him into the Burrow, their hands clasped. She felt dead inside, but she wasn't about to show it to any of the Weasleys, or Harry, who was also staying temporarily in the house near Ottery St. Catchpole.

The meeting with her parents hadn't gone well at all. It had quickly spiralled into a shouting match and she had been forced to cast a silencing charm on the room. This had only complicated matters, as her mother reacted to her wand-waving with shrinking away and more frightened shouting.

An icy hand squeezed her heart.

Her parents were afraid of her. She didn't blame them, really... Messing with their minds had really been extreme, she should have thought more before doing it, or at least should have asked for their consent... But at the time her parents had been growing even angrier with her and didn't want to listen. They couldn't comprehend that there was a war going on, that it was serious and that they were in danger. They thought that it was some kind of a postponed teenage angst and she wanted to drop out of school just to spite them even more.

And that just proved how much they knew about her. How could she drop out of school just like that? Education was _important_! Destroying the Horcruxes had been more important, yes, but her parents didn't know anything about them. They didn't want to know.

So she just did what she always did – took the matters in her hands and catapulted them across the world against their will.

'So, how are your parents? Everything all right?' Ron asked suddenly as they went inside. Hermione almost jumped out of her skin.

'What? Oh! Yes, they're fine. Settling back into their life.'

Ron, bless him, remained oblivious to the haunted look that appeared in her eyes. She didn't really know what they were doing, as they had kicked her out of their house and refused to let her help them move back to England. The sick feeling that hadn't left her since an hour ago was just a reminder that she would probably never see them again.

But it wasn't that bad, she told herself firmly. The fallout was inevitable, as she had no intention of pursuing any career in the Muggle world and that was going to be a real blow to her parents' perfect middle-class life.

She forced herself to remain calm and stop being judgemental. It was not their fault that they lived in two different worlds. If one thought more about it, it was clear that it was her own fault for not trying harder, for running away from all the holidays, for lying and keeping the distance from them.

After all she'd done it looked like she was simply the one who was a bad daughter.

Her breath hitched and it took her considerable effort not to betray her inner state by bursting into angry tears. Instead, she smiled brightly, if a bit crookedly, at the people gathered in the kitchen.

'Hermione, dear,' Molly Weasley cooed. 'Quickly, sit down! How was your trip?'

'It was fine, Mrs Weasley,' she answered politely, but didn't elaborate. Better not say anything than get caught up in her little web of untruths.

The Weasley matriarch nodded warmly and placed an overloaded plate in front of her. Ron sat down on her right and winked at her conspiratiously.

'If you can't eat it all,' he muttered. 'Pass it to me. I'm starving.'

She smiled half-heartedly.

Harry and Ginny, who up till now watched the scene in some amusement, leaned over the table so that Mrs Weasley didn't overhear their conversation.

'Mum's taken to heart that you're Ron's girlfriend, Hermione,' Ginny said with a grin. 'You'd better watch out.'

Ron was blushing. 'Ginny, shut up!'

'You shut up, you git, I'm talking to Hermione, not you,' she shot with a glare. 'Anyway, she thinks it's brilliant, so prepare yourself for a lot of coddling.'

Hermione, a bit uncomfortable with the conversation, decided to change the topic. 'And you, Harry? How does Mrs Weasley feel about being your future mother-in-law?'

Harry and Ron looked at her as if she'd just grown a second head, but Ginny just burst into laughter.

'She treats him the same as always,' she answered with a shrug. 'With just a minimal increase of motherly affection. There isn't much difference between an honorary son and a son-in-law in her dictionary, you know.'

Hermione chuckled with appreciation at Harry's lost expression. It was his turn to steer the conversation away from himself.

'By the way, there's a letter for you, Hermione,' he said, turning around and reaching for it for a nearby shelf. 'It's from Professor McGonagall.'

Hermione stopped eating and stared at the offending envelope in surprise. Professor McGonagall? Why would she be writing to her?

She tore it open and set to read.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Taking into account the special circumstances concerning the last school year the Board of Governors and the new Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have decided to open an intensive voluntary summer course for all students who had been, due to various reasons, unable to complete their studies during the school term. This includes preparation for and taking of the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests at the end of August. _

_The course begins on 1 July. We await your owl with your chosen N.E.W.T. level classes by no later than 30 June._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress_

Her mind had started working in overdrive after the first sentence and by the time she was finished, Hermione was already panicking. How was she supposed to learn the whole seventh year curriculum in less than two months?!

She looked up to see that all three were watching her closely.

'Are you going to go?' Ron asked between bites of his potatoes. She gaped at him.

'What are you talking about?! Of course I'm going!' she snapped. 'But the whole year in _two months_? Oh, I wish I had my time-turner...'

'You're going to be fine,' her boyfriend said off-handedly. 'I bet you'll get Outstandings in all of your N.E.W.Ts. It'd be just weird if you didn't.'

She stared at him, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. How can he say it so lightly? Didn't he _know_? Hadn't he seen her work her bum off for all of those years?

'Well, are _you_ going to go, Ronald?' she almost hissed, barely reigning her frustration.

He shrugged. 'Of course not. After being in the real world did you really think I would go back to school? Besides, George has asked me to work at the shop with him.'

Hermione sat rigidly for a moment, watching him shove another overloaded forkful into his mouth. Then, reminding herself that he was her boyfriend and she loved him and shouldn't shout at him at the table in his own house, she turned to Harry.

'And you? Don't you need your N.E.W.Ts to get into the Auror training program?'

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ginny roll hers towards the ceiling.

'Well,' Harry said uncertainly. 'Kingsley Shacklebolt sent me an owl the other day that if I ever want to, they will take me straight away.'

She felt tears of rightful indignation prickle behind her eyelids, but she managed to suppress them. Why was it that everyone around her got what they wanted without any effort whatsoever? Ron didn't want to go to school, but still needed a job and look – he has a well-paid one just because his brothers had put so much work into estabilishing it for him. And Harry... yes, he had vanquished the Dark Lord and yes, no one would have managed it without him, but how come he was so good and powerful without even _trying_? And she... she had to work endless hours just to be useful to the two of them and they didn't even appreciate it...

Her eyes were stinging. She tried to think positive thoughts, that it wasn't really their fault, that she was exaggerating, that they were her _friends_, for goodness' sake, she shouldn't be getting angry at them...

But the combined hurt and anger courtesy of her parents' rejection and her friends' aloofness about their luck was too much for Hermione to keep thinking rationally. Not wanting to break down and embarrass herself in front of them, she stood up.

'I'm not feeling very well,' she announced in a tight voice. 'I'm going to go upstairs to lie down.'

'But you didn't eat anything...' Ron started, bewildered. 'Hermione!'

But she ignored him, stomping upstairs to the room she shared with Ginny, where she finally allowed herself the luxury to cry.

* * *

It was half an hour later when, having spent most of her remaining energy on getting as much water out of her eyes as was humanly possible before she became dehydrated, she was lying on her bed, face buried in the pillow, red and blotched, hair in a bigger disarray than it was normally – which was a feat in itself – and her mind completely blank. She felt awful for walking out on her friends like that and for behaving so abominably... It wasn't their fault that she was so messed up.

It wasn't their fault that now she had no one but them. It wasn't their fault that they had no idea that it was so bad. It wasn't their fault that they weren't interested enough to ask why she never spoke of her parents and why she didn't spend her holidays with them anymore.

Or maybe she was just thinking too much. Or expecting too much. Or both.

There was a knock at the door.

'Hermione?' came Ron's voice. 'Can I come in?'

She groaned into the pillow, willing him to go away, but he was persistent.

'Hermione?'

'Come in,' she called weakly, thinking that she owed it to him at least. He wasn't only her best friend – he was her boyfriend now and that gave him certain privileges... They were supposed to be even closer now, weren't they?

She pushed her dark thoughts deep inside of her mind and managed a half-smile when he entered. It wasn't enough to distract him from her puffy eyes, though.

'Were you _crying_?' he asked incredulously, sitting next to her. 'Whatever for?'

'Oh,' she said, wiping her eyes. 'I'm just having a bad day, that's all...'

She felt him put his arms around her and kiss her on the head.

Her heart swelled. How could she be so mean to him when he was so sweet?

'Is it about me and Harry not going back to Hogwarts?'

She tensed. 'No, it isn't,' she answered, a bit too harshly. But it was a lie, in a sense, because it _was_, she just didn't want him to feel guilty... 'It's just a bad day, like I said.'

He still looked unconvinced. 'If you're sure...'

'I am,' she assured him with a smile. 'Really. I'm already a bit afraid, you know... I mean, I'll have to learn all of the seventh year material in two months! That's a lot of work! Oh, I just remembered, I should go and send an owl to Professor McGonagall...'

She moved to stand, but Ron's grip on her shoulders was tight. 'Can't it wait?' he asked suddenly.

She frowned. 'Of course it can, why are you - '

She didn't finish, because he leaned over and kissed her. She quickly closed her eyes and kissed him back, but had some trouble keeping up with his tongue and after a moment gave up trying to slow him down.

Was it so difficult to notice that she didn't really enjoy this idiotic wiggling? That a kiss was meant to be sensual and passionate? Not that she had ever experienced a kiss like that, but that was not the point. Getting this through Ron's thick skull would require outright telling him, and that was out of the question. He would just become mortally embarrassed and refuse to kiss her ever again.

She wondered if that would really be such a shame.

No!, her mind screamed. Stop doing this to yourself! This is _Ron_! The boy you've loved for so many years! Don't let your damn over-analysing brain ruin this!

'Is something wrong?' she heard him ask and quickly came to her senses.

Drat! How could she be so engrossed in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice that he stopped kissing her?

'No, no, it's nothing,' she said hastily. 'I'm just... I'm sorry... It's a really bad day... In fact,' she grasped for any kind of excuse. 'It's one of _those_ days.'

He stared at her, becoming adorably red. 'Right,' he muttered, mortified. 'Right... Sorry... I'll... I'll just go, then... You'll be all right?'

'Yes, I'll be fine,' she nodded and, on an impulse, kissed him on the cheek. 'Don't worry. I'm just a bit tired. I'll just send the owl to Professor McGonagall and then go and read a book, or something...'

He brightened at the mention of a book. Hermione Granger loved books, so if she wanted to read one then everything was all right with the world.

'All right,' he grinned. 'I'll be downstairs if you need me.'

He left with another sloppy kiss.

Hermione stared darkly at her hands. She was being entirely too angsty and had absolutely no idea how to stop. She supposed that doing exactly what she told Ron she would be doing was as good a start as any, so she reluctantly got off the bed.

Those two months of hard work were not really such a bad thing. At the very least, they would be a distraction, something to postpone the rest of her life. Even if it meant sleep-deprivation and loads of stress.

Sighing, she found a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write.

_Dear Professor McGonagall..._

* * *

**A/N:** The first chapter. Angsty! Hermione rears her ugly head in here... I hope you like my take on her characterization. And if you liked it... please leave reviews! I would really appreciate them! 


	3. Chapter Two

* * *

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Two**

* * *

The first of July came around hot and stuffy. The cooling charm Draco had placed on his wizarding robes did little to prevent him from sweating. He felt dreadful and tired after a full day of hard, manual labour and his greatest wish at the moment was to simply drop dead on the spot.

Well, after a shower, maybe.

He still, after a week of this torture, was amazed that McGonagall expected them to rebuild the castle without using _wands_. Who did she think they were? Common, filthy, magicless Muggles? A wizard's pride didn't allow him to do these kind of menial tasks.

'But this _is_ a punishment, Draco,' Goyle had pointed out in a rare moment of intelligence and Draco hated him for it with a passion of a thousand suns.

This was quickly getting out of hand. First, the abominable conditions the four of them were supposed to live in during their stay at Hogwarts, then Filch's gleeful, Umbridge-channelling announcement that '_there would be no need to use their wands_' and now this – this disgusting, inhuman weather that made him feel like he was constantly boiling and made his clothes smell like a decaying rat.

'This is it for today!' cried the old, ugly Hit Wizard. 'Go clean yourselves up before I puke from your stink, scoundrels!'

Draco bristled, but reigned his fury, knowing from experience that opposing the nasty git would result in unpleasant repercussions he didn't really care to re-live. Supervising four Death Eaters/sympathisers as they worked from eight to six was not a job Hit Wizard Jenkins was comfortable with and he often vented his frustration on them.

'The prick,' Sally Vandever muttered conspiringly from Draco's left. 'He should sniff his own armpits. Would do us a great favour by fainting dead away.'

Smirking, he followed her towards the small camp of tents that had been erected in close vicinity of that oaf Hagrid's dwelling. The half-Giant's presence was an additional security measure that was to keep them from escaping.

Draco's eyes once again moved along Sally's long, exposed legs and he thought that perhaps Muggle clothing wasn't so bad, after all. But it was a widely-known truth that Sally was a tramp, so maybe normal Muggles didn't wear their trousers quite so short.

'Stop checking out my arse, Malfoy,' she said playfully and he averted his eyes, mortified. 'I already told you that there's no chance in hell that I would shag a spoiled brat like you.'

Draco grimaced. This was one of those things he hadn't been prepared for upon starting his work at Hogwarts. Now that his father was in Azkaban and the Malfoy name had been irreparably besmirched, no one respected him anymore. Even Goyle, who had played the loyal follower so successfully for all of those years now decided to abandon him for the fourth member of their little squad, Alan Tabbs – a twenty-something, not exceptionally bright wizard and one of the Snatchers – leaving Draco mostly alone or a victim to Sally's well-aimed jabs.

The four of them arrived at the campsite and Draco immediatelly headed to his tent to grab his towel and soap, but when he emerged back outside it was clear that Sally had once again been faster.

Resigned, he sat down on the ground in front of the bathroom tent and waited, glaring at its entrance.

Judging from the steam that was coming from the inside, the bitch was planning on using all of the hot water again. This was another annoying thing about his current predicament. McGonagall, when Transfiguring the bathroom tent, had charmed the supply of hot water to be expendable and ordered it to reheat only every twelve hours. Draco, with his limited talent in Transfiguration, had no bloody idea how to remedy this problem. Which meant that once that sadistic wench got in there first, he would have to freeze.

Which, considering today's weather, wasn't really that bad.

He spent the next half hour festering in his own sweat. When Sally finally got out, he hastily passed her, trying very hard not to ogle her towel-only-clad body, lest she notice and tease him about it. Once inside, he heard her amused chuckles and swore under his breath.

* * *

Two hours later the Hogwarts Express arrived, bringing along those lucky bastards who got to sleep in four-posters and eat in the Great Hall – things he'd taken for granted since his first year. Now, nearly seven years later, he sat outside of his measly little tent, munching on a tasteless sandwich and watching the Thestral carriages as they made their way from Hogsmeade Station up the hill. 

It hit him suddenly, as he saw the black-robed figures entering the school, that he would give all of his money to change places with them – to be able to spend some more time as a Hogwarts student, to go back to those years when his only concern was a bad grade and trying to come up with a new insult for Potter and his band of merry friends.

He wanted to go back to being fourteen. Before the Dark Lord came to life and before his father was imprisoned. Maybe he could stay that way and forever cherish his first kiss – with Pansy, who else? - the feeling of superiority as he saw Weasel in that frilly excuse of a dress and smugness as he grew old enough for the Slytherin house to finally do his bidding...

'Wool-gathering, Malfoy?' he heard Sally's silky voice and winced.

'None of your business,' he muttered angrily.

'Oh, is that so?' she laughed, sitting next to him. He instinctively moved away as her tigh barely touched his leg. She raised her eyebrows. 'You afraid of me, little Drakie?'

He could kick himself for his stupidity. 'No.'

She was twenty-five and taking every advantage of the fact that he, at eighteen, wasn't yet really comfortable with this kind of flirting and sexual innuendo. The years when he could have been exploring this side of life had been spent on playing puppet to the Dark Lord and now that Pansy was engaged to some German wizard twice her age there weren't many prospective partners for him.

And Sally, the bitch, enjoyed teasing him with something she would never give him.

'Your friends gonna be here?' she asked off-handedly. 'Feeling sad that you can't join them?'

He gritted his teeth, thinking that she hit way too close to home. 'And you want to know, why?'

She shrugged. 'Oh, just curious, really.'

He snorted.

'Go and be curious about something else then,' he spat. 'I'm busy.'

'Ooh!' she cried happily. 'What a nice witty come back, Malfoy! You're _learning_!'

He glared at her hatefully and struggled for something else to say, but she was faster.

'But if you ask so nicely, I'll leave you to your lonely self. I've got more interesting things to do than babysitting ex junior Death Eaters.'

With that she sauntered away, swinging her lovely hips left and right.

The bitch.

Not wanting to encounter any of his other co-workers, he shot one last look at the Great Hall, where the welcoming feast was probably just beginning, and grumpily took a bite of his sandwich before disappearing inside of the tent.

* * *

The train ride to Hogwarts had been unlike any previous one, mostly because the Express had been mostly deserted and the impossible heat melted every chocolate frog in the trolley cart. Hermione spent most of it in a compartment together with Neville and Dean – the only other Gryffindor seventh years on the train – alternatively reading her Arithmancy text-book and watching the boys play wizard's chess. According to Dean, Lavender got a job in Witch Weekly – as a junior assistant – and Parvati was to begin working in a small cosmetics company based on her Potions and Herbology O.W.L.s. Seamus, on the other hand, had been hired by the Department of Magical Games and Sports in the Ministry of Magic. What he was to do there, Dean wasn't certain, though he didn't hide his envy. Dean's status as a Muggle-born, even though Voldemort was dead, rendered his future career, at best, a bit unstable.

'That's why I need as many N.E.W.T.s as possible,' he said, dejected. 'Though going to school in the middle of the summer is really uncool.'

Neville, on the other hand, was beyond himself with excitement.

'I'll be starting my apprenticeship with Professor Sprout in September,' he told them happily. 'So I need to work hard on my Herbology N.E.W.T.'

Listening to Neville made Hermione feel inadequate. Here was the boy that she had always regarded as somewhat of a little child that needed constant supervision, but now he was the one with a dream and on his way to making it come true. Whereas she... She didn't really know what to do with herself.

Instead of thinking about it, though, she busied herself with reading as much about Arithmancy as she could. She was halfway through the material by the time Hogwarts Express arrived in Hogsmeade.

As there were no first years this time, there was also no Hagrid waiting to collect them. The three seventh year Gryffindors got into one of the carriages and made their way uphill towards the castle. It was a quiet, solemn trip. The last time any of them had seen the school was during the battle... And that wasn't a memory either of the three particularly wanted to re-live. Hogwarts stood proud, if a bit worse for the wear, with some of its walls falling partway down – remnants of curses and Giant attacks. The grounds were in far worse a state, though. The grass, in places burnt and black, hadn't been fully re-grown since that fateful day in May and there were still some broken trees here and there at the entrance to the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione watched it all, feeling sadness overcome all of her other emotions. This was the place where she'd spent six years of her life – the place that felt more like home than any other house in Britain, even the one of her childhood...

'What is that?' she heard Neville ask and her eyes followed to where he was looking. There was a little camp of tents set just outside of Hagrid's hut.

'Oh, that must be where the rebuilding squad is staying,' she said, nodding.

'You mean the sympathising gits who escaped Azkaban?' Dean was screwing his face in distaste. 'I heard that Malfoy was one of them, the slimy rat.'

'Oh, yes!' Hermione gasped, suddenly remembering. 'He's here... Harry said that the Ministry decided to make him rebuild Hogwarts, because he was the one who opened it up to Death Eaters in sixth year...'

'That's good' Dean visibly brightened. 'Imagine that, Draco Malfoy, hard working and getting sweaty. Hilarious.'

'He deserves it,' Neville agreed darkly. 'He was an absolute git last year.'

'Well, I think he's not that bad,' Hermione said in a matter-of-fact voice. The boys stared at her.

'What?' Dean cried in disbelief.

'Hermione, you haven't seen how he was at Hogwarts when Snape was Headmaster!'

'_Professor_ Snape,' she spat angrily. 'And no, I haven't, but I saw what he did when Harry, Ron and I got captured and brough to Malfoy Manor in March!'

'And what did he do?' Dean pressed. 'Nothing! You were still tortured!'

'Well, what could he do with his parents and Fenrir Greyback in the same room? He was afraid, and yet he didn't sell us out even though he could clearly recognize us!'

Dean laughed bitterly. 'Come on, that's hardly enough to say that _he's not that bad_.'

Hermione huffed with anger. 'But you can't condemn him either.'

'Watch me,' Dean said as the carriage came to a halt. He jumped from it and without a backward glance strode towards the school.

'He's right, Hermione,' Neville said gently, but his words were firm. 'No matter how you look at it, Draco Malfoy is scum and he deserves whatever punishment he gets.'

With that he followed Dean, leaving Hermione alone, wondering how had she managed to lose the remaining friends she had at Hogwarts before she had even arrived.

* * *

The welcoming feast was a somber affair. Not many students decided to come for the summer course, and all of those who did were either fifth or seventh years, with a considerably bigger number of the former. Most of her fellow classmates were, unsurprisingly, from Ravenclaw – Terry Boot and Padma Patil among others – there were also Ernie MacMillan, Zacharias Smith and Hannah Abbot from Hufflepuff and two Slytherins – Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.

Dean refused to talk to her and sat as far away from her as it was possible. Neville, though reluctant, sat with him. Hermione, miffed and hurt, sat alone, barely touching her food. There was no sorting tonight and Professor McGonagall's speech was short and to the point, apologizing for the short time they had to prepare for their exams and urging them to work hard, even though it was summer. Hermione didn't stay long, anxious to get to the dormitory. She was the first one to enter the Gryffindor common room, but she didn't stop there and went straight upstairs to the seventh year girls' dorm. She didn't leave until it was time for breakfast.

First day of classes began stressfully. Professor Flitwick – promoted to Deputy Headmaster – handed out their timetables, and the Great Hall erupted in groans of disbelief. Classes were held from nine in the morning until six in the afternoon, with an hour break for lunch. Hermione took this without comment, knowing that otherwise it was impossible to successfully prepare for the N.E.W.T.s. So she took a deep breath and worked hard during Transfiguration and Arithmancy. It was in Charms, though, that she looked out the window for a second and, to her surprise, saw Draco Malfoy manually carrying large stones from one pile to another. Bewildered, she watched him work without any rest, for the next half hour, and as she did, she made a decision.

She was going to talk to him. They had never thanked him for what he did for them and he deserved at least that...

So, during the lunch break, instead of heading to the Great Hall, she went outside.

* * *

Draco was silently cursing to himself, in his mind thinking of ways to murder Hit Wizard Jenkins, probably in some untraceable way so that this short moment of pleasure didn't result in being sent to Azkaban. How dare the bastard order him to do this? Why not Goyle? Wny not that damn idiot, Tabbs?

The task was simple. The people who had brought the materials for rebuilding dropped them too far away from the castle and it was difficult to go back for them all the time, so someone had to bring them all closer. That son of a hag Jenkins had just smirked evilly and singled Draco out to do it. Without the benefit of his wand.

Not to mention the fact that it was even hotter today than it was yesterday and his black wizarding robes clung to his skin.

Life was simply perfect.

He looked up, sick of the sight of stones and saw no other than Hermione Granger striding purposefully towards him. At first he stared, dumbfounded, then his lip curled in a sneer.

He should have known she would be here. She was too much of a swot to miss out on school if there was an opportunity to attend it. She was alone, so Weasley and Potter probably weren't here at all.

'Figures,' he muttered. Weasel was too stupid to pass the N.E.W.T.s and Potter could probably get any job he wanted now that he had defeated the Dark Lord.

'What do you want, Granger?' he asked angrily when she approached. 'Came here to gloat?'

She didn't answer.

He set down the stone he was holding with a furious grunt. 'Or maybe you want to tell me how superior you're feeling right now, you, the Mudblood with her full education and me, the Pureblood doing community work?'

When she still didn't say anything, he decided to spare her a glance. She was seething.

'You - !' she spat shrilly. 'Stop being so full of yourself!'

'Full of myself?' he cried incredulously. 'Are you listening to yourself? I just gave you the perfect opening to humiliate me! How's that being full of myself?'

Her eyes were so angry that if looks could kill, he would already be six feet under along with Voldemort and his band of followers.

'Yes! You're so full of yourself that you can't even stop speaking long enough to hear what I've got to say!'

He laughed mockingly. 'And what have you got to say that I haven't already heard?'

'I wanted to say thank you!' she snapped. 'But you obviously don't want to hear it, so I don't know why I even bothered.'

But before she could turn on her heel and leave, he managed to find his voice back.

'Thank me?' he asked, blinking owlishly. 'What for?'

She looked him in the eye seriously.

'For not giving us away that time we got captured.'

For a moment he had no idea what she was talking about, but then he was transported back to Malfoy Manor and he once again saw Granger's frightened face and Weasley's glare and Potter's disfigured, ugly mob... He'd always wondered who had done it to him...

'What the hell was wrong with Potter's face?' he asked quietly.

She smiled guiltily. 'I might have swelled it a little bit so Greyback wouldn't recognize him...'

He burst into laughter, remembering that time, when he'd been so frightened, so confused, didn't really know what he was doing, but knew deep down that it was pointless, and still couldn't blow their cover... If someone asked him now what had made him do it, he wouldn't be able to give a straight answer. It had been more of a gut feeling than a conscious decision, like the time up on the Astronomy Tower more than a year ago...

'You are a good guy, Malfoy,' she said suddenly, bringing him back to reality.

He bristled. What? Was she really calling him a _good guy_? Who did she think she was? He started back towards the pile of rubble and she followed him.

'The world's not black and white, Granger,' he scoffed. 'Stop living in a fairy tale.'

'I'm not,' she protested hotly. 'And you really are a good person! If you weren't, you'd never - '

'I'd never, what? Stop telling me who I am.'

'I'm not - '

'Yes, you are. You're always telling people who they are and what they should do.'

He wasn't exactly sure if that was the case, as he didn't really care about what she did most of the time. Well, make that all the time. But, judging from the horrified look on her face, he'd hit a nerve. So, feeling gleeful, he went even further.

'And now that Potter and Weasley abandoned you and you don't have anyone to nag on, you decide I'm the next best thing?' he sneered. 'Well, lookie here, Granger, I'm not interested.'

She glared at him in confusion. 'What are you talking about?' she demanded.

'Your behaviour,' he answered simply. 'What was the word...? Oh, yeah. It's _overbearing_. So go get a life and stop interrupting mine.'

He heaved another rock and let out a huff of air. Merlin, it was heavy.

She was still standing there, gaping like a fish.

'What are you still doing here?' he asked cruelly. 'Go away. Shoo.'

He went on his way, not turning back.

When he came for another rock, she was no longer there.

* * *

**A/N: **The second chapter is finished and we finally get some more action. I hope you like my take on Draco :) 

I would like to thank AggieAmy, Kyosnekozukigirl and Astra12 for their reviews :D You really made my day. I would also want to say that while getting story alerts is very, very nice, I'd really appreciate some more comments:D:D

Hope you enjoyed this chapter,

Mizuki


	4. Chapter Three

* * *

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Charms, normally a class Hermione quite enjoyed, was, this time almost unbearable. She kept thinking back to her fiasco of an encounter with Malfoy during the lunch hour and couldn't at all concentrate on Professor Flitwick's high-pitched lecture.

She couldn't help but feel indignant. She'd only wanted to thank him and how did he treat her? How rude! Not to mention the fact that he had called her overbearing.

Well, maybe she was. Occasionally. And just a little bit. Well, perhaps not so little.

But still! He had no right to insult her when she didn't do anything wrong. Thanking a person for something they did and calling them good wasn't a reason to be treated by them like filth.

But, she reminded herself suddenly, Malfoy has always treated you like filth. What were you expecting?

She felt like a fool. Dean and Neville were right and she'd just behaved like an idiot. Mortified, she decided to focus on schoolwork instead and vowed to never approach Draco Malfoy again.

She was so set on her goal that she hardly had a bite of dinner before setting off towards the library, where she studied until curfew. Then she simply gathered her books, moved to the seventh year girls dormitory and spent half the night reading about theoretical Potions.

* * *

'Malfoy! You slimy excuse of a wizard, get your lazy arse out of that damned bed!'

Draco jerked awake, his hand immediatelly flying to his wand, and he shot to his feet, disoriented. The world swam before his eyes and he groaned, willing his mind to make a quicker decision about which way was up and which was down.

'Malfoy!' he heard Jenkins roar from outside. 'You're going to regret it!'

He glanced at his pocket watch and for a moment wished he hadn't. It was half past eight.

'Bugger!' he muttered under his breath. He'd overslept. He'd been so angry last night that he hadn't managed to fall asleep until it was far too late.

He quickly got dressed and went outside, only to see Jenkins smirking at him in such a manner that it caused an unpleasant shiver to run down his spine.

'You're not getting any breakfast today,' Jenkins announced with a sickly joyous smile. 'Now start working, you worthless piece of dung.'

Appalled and speechless, Draco couldn't even find the strenght in himself to bristle at Goyle and Tabbs' exchanged triumphant looks.

Sally, thankfully, was not present.

His stomach growling so loudly that he was certain half of Hogwarts had already heard it, Draco set down to work – moving another pile of rubble, this time farther from the castle, from where it was, to where it could be taken somewhere else – and winced as his arms and shoulders protested vehemently at being treated in such an abhorrent way. He grimaced, thinking back to what happened the day before.

Jenkins had made him work until he was finished with the stones, which meant that he had been still going back and forth at half past six; exhausted, filthy and red in the face from both work and the sun which had, unfortunately, decided that his pale, unblemished Malfoy skin needed a new, tomato-red tan.

Working past six created an addictional problem, in the form of two very unpleasant seventh year Slytherins.

Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott approached him with raised eyebrows and sporting smirks that couldn't mean anything good.

'Having fun?' Zabini asked, giving him an off-hand once-over. When his only answer was a glare, the black boy continued. 'Well, certainly looks like it. You've certainly moved onto bigger and better things.'

Draco stopped in his tracks. 'What the hell are you talking about?'

Zabini smiled without humour. 'Tut, tut, Malfoy. Can't remember your own words? That was the speech you gave us in sixth year. What was it again? Ah, yes. You didn't know if you would be returning for the seventh year, for there were bigger and better things you would rather do.'

Nott eyed the stone in Draco's arms with appreciation. 'Yes. Better and bigger,' he said. 'Much heavier too, I suppose.'

If he could, Draco would have steamed from his ears with anger. 'Just what is your problem?' he snapped, maintaining as much dignity as it was possible in this situation. Which meant barely above zero.

'Nothing,' Zabini answered calmly. 'We're just enjoying seeing you looking so... fine and healthy.'

'Yes' nodded Nott. 'Knowing that you're knocked off your high horse in such a spectacular fashion also helps us deal with the stress of our upcoming exams.'

Draco gritted his teeth. Those gits! How _dare_ they! He used to be their leader! Their bloody _god_! And now they're rubbing it in that he can't finish his education and _they_ can?!

You shouldn't be so surprised, pointed out a little nagging voice at the back of his mind. You'd do the exact same thing if you were in their place.

He realized with a sinking sensation that the voice was right. He was _it_. He was the underdog everyone picked on. _He_ was the worthless scum everyone laughed at.

Suddenly his life looked very, very bleak indeed.

Zabini and Nott left eventually, flaunting their Hogwarts uniforms and book bags and Draco stood there, speechless, for a good ten minutes before finally dragging his protesting body off to finish the bloody job. Then he'd spent half the night mulling things over and coming to the inevitable conclusion that he was royally screwed.

And then he'd slept right through his wake-up call.

Which made his life all the more exciting.

* * *

'How about we go to the lake after school today?' Patricia Stonehall was saying to her two girlfriends over lunch. The two fifth year girls nodded in agreement. 'The weather's so great that it feels like a waste to spend it all in classes.'

'Yeah... It's a shame that we had the O.W.L.s this year...' said a black-haired girl Hermione didn't know. 'I envy the fourth years... They have their holidays _and_ their school year was cut off a month early.'

The three girls shared a long-suffering sigh and moved on to more interesting topics, like what they were going to do during the weekend.

Hermione listened to their happy giggling and felt like an outsider. Dean was still not speaking to her – and now she knew that he had good reason, which didn't help matters – and Neville, while less ostentatiously, also avoided her company. On top of that, it was only the second day of classes and she was already tired. This awfully hot weather made her feel even worse.

She wasn't really hungry, so she only drank her pumpkin juice and decided to go to the library in order not to waste any more precious time.

Once there, it crossed her mind that it might not have been the best idea, as Madam Pince had left the windows closed and hand't cast a cooling charm. The air in the library was stale and stuffy and Hermione felt the first drops of sweat form on her forehead seconds after she'd entered. Not discouraged, she simply gathered her mop of hair into a bun at the top of her head, secured it with a quill and set down to work.

Somewhere between the fourth and fifth chapter of her Transfiguration textbook she stopped for a short break to let her mind think of something else than transfiguring humans and its implications. She allowed her thoughts to drift and immediatelly thought of Ron.

A pang of longing hit her in the mid-section. Ron, her funny, brave, beloved boyfriend. As she remembered the week that preceded the start of the course, she felt awful.

Out of both envy and irritation, she'd mercilessly nagged Harry and Ron to re-think their decision and to join her for their last two months at Hogwarts. Harry had brushed it off, understanding but firm, but as she had spent considerably more time with Ron, he was the one who had to suffer her lecturing.

Not exactly the most patient of people, he'd had enough after two days and they had had a huge row, followed by a couple of days of silent treatment. Then he had apologized – even though now she suspected that she was the one who should have done that – but their relationship had remained extremely strained up to the moment he'd kissed her good-bye on King's Cross station on the first of July.

And now she hadn't contacted him for an entire two days.

She knew she should write, but there was simply not enough _time_... Besides, she wasn't sure what exactly she should say. Should she apologize for behaving so badly?

Yes, she decided, she probably should.

But as the bell anounced the end of the lunch hour, Ron's letter was pushed aside to make some place for new, important information that she was about to learn in Arithmancy.

* * *

Draco stared listlessly at the plate of sandwiches in his hands. He wondered briefly whether it was a dream – a nightmare, more likely – and when he awoke he would see a three course dinner, complete with wine and dessert.

This was really outrageous. He could understand that, as they were technically prisoners, their ration of food would be smaller and less varied, but this was really pushing it. Didn't the House Elves realize that in order to work he needed to eat? And have at least one hot meal a day?

The other three were also complaining, but no one dared to voice their thoughts to Jenkins. Tabbs had tried on their third day, which only resulted in him being hungrier – as Jenkins had taken both his dinner and breakfast as punishment.

Without enthusiasm, he started eating. In no time at all, the plate was empty and Draco – still hungry as hell.

He thought with longing about the packages of sweets his mother used to send him while he had still attended Hogwarts. _Those_ had been really popular back then. He remembered the feasts he, Goyle and Crabbe used to have in the common room, under the envious eyes of the rest of Slytherins...

A sudden idea entered his mind. He could ask his mother to send him some food! Ingenious!

Grinning to himself, he quickly conjured a piece of parchment and started composing his letter.

_Dear Mother, _

_How are you? You must be feeling lonely now that I and father are gone – the house is too big a place for a single person... Surely something could be done to lessen your discomfort? _

_Things at Hogwarts aren't much better. The four of us – apart from me there are three other workers: Goyle, a Snatcher named Alan Tabbs and a Ministry witch by the name of Salinea Vandever – are forced to live in tents, work ten hours a day without using wands (atrocious!) and the food rations are inconceivably poor. _

_This is actually what I wanted to ask you. Would it be a terrible inconvenience to you to send me some food by owl? I would be forever grateful to you._

_I hope you are feeling all right._

_Your son, _

_Draco_

He surveyed his work with a nod of appreciation. It was short, concise, filled with affection and clearly conveyed his message.

There was, he realized, only one handicap to the plan.

Without an owl of his own and without access to the school owlery, his mother would never receive his carefully crafted letter.

He cursed darkly. And now what?

He thought for a moment and came up with a brilliant solution – he would ask someone else to do it! Probably Granger, as she was the only one who didn't want to kill him. Heck, she'd even thanked him for something he hadn't even remembered doing.

It was decided. He would ask her tomorrow.

With that he went inside to sleep.

* * *

The next day, Hermione started feeling the tell-tale signs of upcoming exhaustion. Horrified at its swift arrival, she resolved to eat a full meal at dinner, but when it came to that, she could hardly force down half of her plate. Thinking that it was because she was used to eating so little – all those months of camping and feeding on mushrooms could have this kind of an effect – she came to a conclusion that she needed a break. The hard-earned wisdom of her third year told her that if she didn't relax soon, she'd turn into a zombie – she could already see the dark circles around her eyes getting bigger and more pronounced.

But as she was still a stranger in the Gryffindor common room, the only other option was going down to visit Hagrid.

Therefore, after dinner and completing her most immediate homework, she headed outside, towards the Forbidden Forest.

* * *

Draco's work suffered greatly as his mind was too preoccupied with his current problem to spare enough of his attention for what he was doing. It was so bad that even Sally noticed his mental absence and teased him mercilessly about it.

'Thinking about a girl, Malfoy?' she called from across their working space, making Goyle's and Tabbs' heads turn in interest. 'Should I be jealous?'

He sent her a withering glare and she just cocked her head to the side and let out a pearly laugh.

The object that occupied his thoughts was, in fact, a girl, but not in _that_ sense, thank you very much. He was thinking about Granger and trying furiously to come up with a way to contact her.

While not locked in a cell, Draco was not exactly a free man either. There were certain restrictions that had been placed on the four of them upon their arrival at Hogwarts. Their wands were unable to perform any kind of offensive magic – meaning Unforgiveables, hexes and even the most mediocre of jinxes – and they were forbidden to leave the grounds or enter the castle without specific permission, which was granted only in case there was a need to fix something inside that had been destroyed.

Which meant that he couldn't simply go to the Great Hall – or the library, which was a safer bet, really – and talk to her. He had to catch her when she emerged outside and, after their last encounter and considering that it was _Hermione Granger_, that was not bloody likely to happen anytime soon.

He spent the entire day unsuccessfully overusing his grey matter and came up with absolutely no solution. Disgruntled, he sat down in front of his tent and stared upwards at the darkening sky and the stars that started appearing in it one by one.

He couldn't feel either of his arms or legs and the skin on his face was sunburnt. He was glad that he couldn't see himself in a mirror, because he wasn't entirely sure that the sight of his angry-red nose, cheeks and forehead would be a pleasant one. His stomach ached dully, reminding him that he wasn't getting nearly enough food and his eyes drooped as a sign that his new sleeping habits weren't exactly beneficial, either.

But this stage in his life wasn't going to last forever. In six months, at the most, he would be free to do whatever he wanted – even if still under close supervision of the Ministry.

Here came the biggest of problems. What was he going to do?

Father would have wanted him to follow in his footsteps and meddle in politics... But that was out of the question now, if Nott and Zabini's little demonstration of power was any indication. Living off the Malfoy inheritance and doing nothing would kill him with boredom within a month and without his N.E.W.T.s he was unable to take up any dignified career – not that he was very keen on having a _job_, really.

He didn't have to ask his mother to know what she was thinking – she wanted him to quickly find a suitable wife, raise a family and settle down in Malfoy Manor to keep her company until father was released from Azkaban.

But he wasn't that keen on matrimony, either. At least for now.

He thought of Pansy and couldn't help but feel sad. He'd thought that she might be the one... Even if their short-lived relationship had been based more on their respective positions than on any particular inclination. But that had been a long time ago and now Pansy was marrying Dietrich Eichelberger, a wealthy cousin to the legendary Duerr family, and a rather mediocre-looking forty-year-old wizard. He was sure this was an arranged marriage, but he doubted Pansy cared – she'd never been that concerned about true love. In her world, both the wife and the husband could have affairs, because what really mattered was not the affection between the two, but rather what both parties could gain from the marriage.

Draco, on the other hand, having watched the loving relationship between his parents for all of his life, wanted more. He was certain that he could find love. And only once that happened would he get married.

But where did that leave him? Nowhere.

Perhaps he could travel the world a bit. Stay some time in France. Visit the East – he'd always wanted to see the wizarding world in Asia... _That_ was some kind of an idea. It killed at least three birds with one stone – he would postpone life-altering decisions, remove himself from Britain and then return once the bad fame surrounding his name lessened a bit and, lastly, he would meet a lot of new, interesting people and among them maybe that one witch he was to marry.

It was a good plan, he decided with relief.

He turned his gaze from the stars towards the half-Giant's cabin – just in time to see him emerge with – Merlin, could this be possible? - none other than Granger in tow?!

He leapt to his feet in surprise and anticipation. He couldn't believe his luck – Granger, here! He'd wasted his day thinking how to talk to her and look, she had come to him all by herself!

Well, not to him, but to that hairy creature, but that was beside the point.

'Hey, Granger!' he called once Hagrid disappeared inside. She faltered in her steps, looked over her shoulder at him and then, as if she hadn't seen him, she resumed her walk.

Miffed, Draco followed her.

'Hey, I'm talking to you! Didn't your Muggle parents teach you any manners?'

She stopped and whirled around. He actually felt a pang of fear at the murder in her eyes.

'_What_?' she hissed.

He stared at her for a second, wondering what the hell had he done to make her so angry. And, most importantly, why didn't he remember it?

'There's something I need to do,' he began cautiously. 'Only I can't do it, because I can't enter the castle and...I thought you could do it for me.'

This time her 'What?' was more shocked than angry. He needn't have worried, though, because once the implication of what he'd said reached her, a new-found fury started emanating from her rigid posture.

'It's just a letter' he said quickly, trying to control the situation. 'I need to send a letter to my mother, but I don't have my owl with me and can't go to the owlery...'

He wasn't prepared for the outburst of shrill indignation that followed.

'_Are you out of your mind_?' she shrieked. 'Two days ago you insult me, you call me _overbearing_ and tell me not to _interrupt your life_ and now you want me to be your _messenger_?!'

He blinked. 'Granger, it's just one bloody owl' he said in exasperation. 'Surely it's not too much for you?'

She looked at him in wonder mixed with anger.

'You are the most arrogant person I've ever met' she said, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

His insides boiled. How _dare_ she...?!

'Granger - '

'I will _not_ do your errands' she snapped, cutting him off. 'Find yourself somebody else to be at your beck and call.'

She turned to go and it dawned on him that she had refused him and that he had to think of something else...

'If you help me, I'll - ' he trailed off.

'You'll what?'

And then he suddenly realized that he had absolutely nothing to offer to her.

Granger looked at him for a moment, snorted angrily and strode off, her hair flapping behind her like a curtain.

Leaving him once again speechless, confused and utterly defeated.

* * *

**A/N: **The third chapter is up! More bad things happening to poor Draco, but don't you think he deserved it this time:P Arrogance will get him nowhere with Hermione, no no. 

And I can't believe no one pointed it out to me that I had a glaring Americanism in the bloody _title_! I've changed it and now it's 'grey' instead of 'gray'. XD

Lastly, thanks so much for my reviewers: Astra12, Knight of the Eternal Word, Sofiazadorian, emily and sweet.sonata. You really are the best:D

Hope you enjoyed this chappie... if you did, please review! As a birthday present for me :D (I'm nineteen as of today).

Love,

Mizuki


	5. Chapter Four

* * *

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Hermione stormed into the common room, anger at Malfoy clouding her reason. The prat! How dare he ask her something like that? Did he really think she would do his bidding without batting an eye? Well, not bloody likely!

As she stomped furiously in the direction of the girls' dorm, Dean and Neville's faces turned towards her before they both looked back at their books. She faltered, wondering whether she should just go to them and apologize and tell them they'd been right, but she quickly thought better of it – she was too angry and too busy to deal with that problem now. She would just have to do it tomorrow.

She went upstairs and, on a whim, decided that her Herbology essay could wait a bit while she wrote a letter to Ron. She spent the next half hour writing and re-writing it, not really knowing what she was to say and how.

Finally, on her fifth try, she managed to create a coherent message.

_Dear Ron, _

_I'm sorry that I didn't write earlier, but you know how much homework there is to be done at Hogwarts and since we only have two months to finish the entire year, the Professors are giving much more of it than ever before. _

_I've met Draco Malfoy – he's working really hard on rebuilding (I've never thought I would see him do any kind of physical labour, but he's really doing it, without slacking off, too!), but he's still as insufferable as before. I tried thanking him for not giving us away when we got captured by the Snatchers, but he just insulted me!_

_Hagrid sends his love to you and to Harry. I went to see him today and now I have my pockets full of his scones... I think he's found some new creature to take care of, but he's being very mysterious about what it is, so I'm guessing that I might be better off without knowing. _

_How are things at the Burrow? Have you started work already? How is George doing? _

_I'm really sorry for my behaviour... I know I shouldn't have nagged you so much to come back to Hogwarts with me, but I guess I was afraid that I would feel lonely without you and Harry here with me... There aren't many people attending the summer course – only Dean and Neville from Gryffindor, actually, so the castle does feel a bit empty... But it's only two months and I have so much work with my N.E.W.T. preparation that I don't have the time to feel sad. _

_I have to go now. I still need to write a an essay from Herbology and study for tommorow._

_Love, _

_Hermione_

She surveyed her work with a critical eye and decided that it would have to do, as she really didn't have anymore time to waste. Her visit to Hagrid – while necessary – had put her behind in her schedule. Therefore, without further delay, she pulled out her book bag and began. She finished the essay after an hour and then decided to do some Potions N.E.W.T. revision.

It was twenty minutes past three when she finally went to sleep.

* * *

Furious at Granger's refusal to help him, even though he'd gone as far as to actually _ask _her for it, Draco decided to put all of his sneaking experience into good use. He had to get to the owlery, because otherwise he'd starve, but getting caught would mean serious repercussions – like additional work hours, smaller food rations – not that it would make much of a difference, anyway – and other unpleasant things Draco would rather not think about. Therefore he had to be extra careful not to be seen or heard.

The trip to the owlery, even though quick and surprisingly uneventful, gave him a pleasant rush of adrenaline. It brought him satisfaction that he was bending the rules instead of mindlessly following them like a dutiful Hufflepuff and he felt content for the first time since he'd arrived at Hogwarts.

His letter sent, Draco returned to the camping site and, as he passed the spot where he and Granger had argued some time before, his good humour disappeared.

That moment made him realize that – apart from the fact that Granger was an annoying swot – he had lost all of his assets as a Slytherin. Apart from money, he had nothing else to offer anyone if it came to striking a bargain – he no longer had any connections (because most of the ones made by his father had dissolved rather quickly upon his imprisonment and the ones that hadn't didn't necessarily extend to his son), his name was besmirched, and he wasn't even a free man...

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep the dark thoughts at bay, but it was hopeless.

His life was falling apart and he had no idea how to fix it.

And he hated himself for it.

* * *

Defense Against the Dark Arts was Hermione's first class the next day, but she had trouble concentrating. Professor Hawthorn – a substitute teacher hired only for the summer course – was an older wizard extremely set in his ways and his lecturing voice was quiet and monotone. But that wasn't the reason why Hermione found it difficult to listen to him.

She was very sleepy, as she'd got up at ten to six to once again re-write her Ancient Runes essay and then was almost late to class because of her trip to the owlery. She'd only managed to grab a roll for breakfast and was now not only tired, but also hungry, which didn't help her focus on Professor Hawthorn's uninspiring words.

'This andvanced, non-verbal form of the _Protego_ charm requires both strength of mind and raw magical power to successfully perform,' he saw saying. 'Personal experience in duelling is an added bonus.' He paused for a moment, considering. 'It is a pity that Mr Potter has decided to forgo his N.E.W.T.s in favour of the Auror training, for he would give us an excellent example of how it is supposed to be done...'

His eyes focused on Hermione and she felt a pang of nervousness.

'However, we cannot forget that Miss Granger is here with us!' he announced with a smile. 'Come, dear, and let the two of us demonstrate the power of the shield.'

Eager to please, she stood up and went to the front of the room. Professor Hawthorn situated himself across from her and raised his wand.

Hermione gave the spell all of her might and concentration, but Professor Hawthorn's Leg-Locker Jinx got through her shield and she was forced to duck. The jinx hit the wall behind her and disappeared.

Professor Hawthorn frowned at her, disappointed. 'Well' he said. 'It's too bad. I might have overestimated you, young lady... It seems that being Harry Potter's best friend is not equivalent to having a talent in defense... Do sit down.'

Hermione, angry and humiliated, scrambled to her seat. She heard Zacharias Smith snigger at her across the room and sank deeper into her chair.

It wasn't her fault that she wasn't as good at Defense as Harry! It wasn't her fault that he could do it in his sleep and still be the best, without even _trying_, for goodness' sake. And, most importantly, it wasn't her fault that even though she worked so hard, she still couldn't do it as well as he could.

Or maybe it _was_ her fault. Maybe she was just not good enough, no matter what she did and how hard she tried.

Her heart wrenched in despair. She would never do it right... She would fail everything and be the worst student Hogwarts had ever seen... She would never pass her N.E.W.T.s and would never get a good job... She would become a house witch and she'd be the worst one, too... It was no surprise that Harry and Ron hadn't liked her cooking... She was a failure.

The tears that threatened to fall gathered behind her eyelids and Hermione, using inhuman strength, barely managed to keep them from spilling. Self-loathing – something she hadn't felt since a few years back – filled her heart and she had no idea what to do about it. She had no one to talk to, no one who would understand how she was feeling, no one who would distract her from her own thoughts... For the first time in years she felt like she was completely alone.

It was so ugly a feeling that Hermione almost buckled under its strength.

Professor Hawthorn's voice cut through her haze of emotions and she gathered herself, gritted her teeth and used her last ounce of energy on learning.

She would show him that she wasn't a failure. She would show everyone.

* * *

Friday evening, instead of resting, Hermione spent it on practising the non-verbal _Protego_ shield until she was quite certain that she mastered it completely. Then she used half of the night studying the next few Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, so that today's situation would never occur again.

The weekend – to everyone's disappointment – brought storms and lots of rain. Angry Hogwarts students roamed the hallways and sat listlessly in the common rooms, their plans of flying, sunbathing and otherwise having fun on the grounds destroyed by the unforgiving weather.

Hermione was probably the only person in the castle actually glad that it was raining – the air in the library was once again cool and fresh, so her two days worth of studying passed in a pleasant environment.

By Sunday evening, Ron's letter still hadn't arrived, and Hermione started worrying that the owl had got caught up in the storm. When Monday came around, and the sky once again turned cloudless and the temperature shot upwards, and there was still no reply from Ron, she began obsessing over the fact that he might be angry with her.

She didn't feel very well when she entered Transfiguration – the first class of the day – and apparently Professor McGonagall, who was still teaching, noticed her worn state, because she asked her to stay after the rest of the students had been dismissed.

Apprehensive, Hermione approached the desk.

'Miss Granger,' Professor McGonagall looked at her with a furrowed brow. 'You look tired. Are you feeling all right?'

'I'm fine, Professor,' she assured her, though she felt anything but. 'I just couldn't get much sleep because of the storm last night.'

Professor McGonagall was still frowning, looking at her as if she had just detected her lie. Hermione shifted nervously under her gaze.

'Professor Hawthorn mentioned that your performance in his class has suffered somewhat,' the older witch delivered the blow with a disapproving look and Hermione almost collapsed underneath her guilt, her heart falling only to stop somewhere at the level of her ankles.

'I'm sorry,' she muttered. 'It's not going to happen again.'

Surprisingly, Professor McGonagall's expression softened. 'My dear girl, if you're having any difficulties, please tell me. I know you are ambitious, Miss Granger, but you are the only seventh year taking eight N.E.W.T. level classes. You are bound to feel pressured.'

Hermione wrung her hands. 'Everything's fine, Professor McGonagall,' she said. 'I swear.'

'If you are sure...' the woman raised her eyebrows. 'Have you chosen a career path? Maybe you could drop some of the classes that are not necessary...'

'Oh!' Hermione could feel her cheeks heat up. 'I'm... er... leaving my options open, so to speak.'

Professor McGonagall regarded her levelly. 'I see.'

'I have to go before I miss Charms!' she said quickly, forcing a bright smile and dashing for the door. Once outside, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Charms passed without incident. During lunch, not feeling particularly hungry, she headed for the library. Unfortunately for her, Madam Pince had once again forgotten to open the windows and the room felt like a huge, book-filled sauna. Determined, Hermione found her favourite table, took out her books and started re-checking and adding to her notes from both Transfiguration and Charms.

Minutes flew and her state worsened. She was feeling breathless, her head swirled and she couldn't concentrate on what she was doing. Then, suddenly, fifteen minutes after she'd arrived, she was hit by a wave of nausea. She stood up, intent on sprinting to the lavatory if the need arose, but sat back down as her vision blurred and all she saw was darkness.

Panicked, she took a couple of deep breaths and blinked a few times and the attack receded.

For a long moment she stared at the table, her eyes unseeing.

She'd almost fainted. She'd never fainted before... What was happening to her?

Maybe missing lunch hadn't been such a good idea.

A bit frightened, she packed her things and carefully walked to the Great Hall. She sat alone and reached for something to eat, but quickly realized that the sight of food made her nauseous again. Knowing that she should at least eat _something_, she forced down a sandwich and drank some water. She didn't feel any better when the bell rang, announcing the beginning of Ancient Runes.

The Ancient Runes classroom was a small, cluttered room, filled with rolls upon rolls of parchment, reference books and dictionaries. The single window was opened, but as it faced South-West, the sun shone directly inside during the afternoon lessons. Right now the room was hot and stuffy and Hermione prayed to whoever heard her that her fainting spell would not return.

The first few minutes went by quickly. Professor Simmons took roll and then started giving out their marked essays.

When he passed her desk, she was so certain that she would receive an Outstanding that for a second she didn't see the red, slanted "E" glaring at her from the parchment.

When she finally did, her heart stopped beating for a moment.

An _"E"_?!

'Excuse me,' she spoke up, still looking at the essay in her hands. 'Professor Simmons, I think you made a mistake.'

He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her with a frown. 'Is this about your essay, Miss Granger?' he asked, annoyed. 'Then I did not make a mistake, I assure you.'

'But' she pressed. 'Are you sure? You might have missed something... I've written and re-written this essay, it's _perfect_...'

'Miss Granger,' Professor Simmons said firmly. 'It is not my fault that the essay you worked so much to write is off-topic and unclear. In fact, I have been very generous in giving you that "Exceeds Expectations". So if you don't want your grade changed to "Acceptable", I suggest you stop complaining.'

She heard, as if through a haze, Theodore Nott's cruel chuckles and muttered insults. Padma Patil shot her a pitying glance before turning to compare her essay with Terry Boot.

Time had slowed to a halt for Hermione. Inside, she felt something snap with a sickening accuracy. She thought of how much time she'd spent on that damn essay, how proud she'd been upon finally finishing it. She thought of the letter to Ron she almost hadn't been able to send. She thought of her boyfriend, who had left her here alone and who didn't answer her owl... Of her friends, who didn't give a rat's arse about how she felt and who took her brilliance for granted, forgetting how much work she put into her studies... Of her parents, who were afraid of her and who had refused to hear her explanations... Of things she couldn't do no matter how hard she tried... Of that git, Professor Hawthorn, who had told on her to Professor McGonagall... And of Malfoy, who, while in an obviously worse situation than her, had still managed to effortlessly insult her...

Suddenly the room seemed too small for her. She was suffocating here, in this small, stuffy classroom, with those mean, cruel people...

Without really realizing what she was doing, she stood up, grabbed her book bag and stormed from the room, ignoring the Professor's startled yells that she return immediatelly...

She needed to be outside. She needed to breathe. In no time at all she crossed the Entrance Hall and opened the door with so much force that the halves hit the walls on both sides.

The tears flew freely now, as she had no strength left to keep them in.

Warm sunrays fell on her wet face, mocking her and laughing at her breakdown.

She let out a strangled sob and started running, not knowing where she should go.

Not knowing that someone had seen her.

* * *

**A/N: **Chapter four already! Hermione has a nervous breakdown... I hope you didn't feel it was unrealistic. I thought that normally she would do much better at school and she'd never snap like that, but considering some outside influence – like her parents' behaviour, feeling tired after months of stress, her inability to feel happy with Ron as a boyfriend, estrangement with her peers at Hogwarts, minor troubles with schoolwork, lack of sleep and food – they all had a hand in making her feel that way. And as Hermione is prone to random outbursts of anger and storming out of classrooms (Divination comes to mind...) I thought it would something she'd do. XD 

It's taken me more time to write this one mainly because I had a birthday party yesterday and today I was sleeping it off and I'm still not feeling too well (too much beer xD), so I'm sorry if you feel dissatisfied with this chappie...

Thank you to my reviewers: Astra12, -Hermione-Ron-LOVE-, tribalranger, gordongirl18, sofiazadorian and an anonymous person :P I was really happy to read that you like my story :D And thanks for the wishes!

I hope you enjoyed this installment – if you did, don't forget to review!

Love,

Mizuki


	6. Chapter Five

* * *

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Five**

* * *

'Who is _that_?'

Draco looked up from his work, a bit curious. Sally was standing a few yards away, staring somewhere ahead with a raised eyebrow. He followed her gaze only to see Granger running like mad down the entrance stairs and then right across the lawn, in the vague direction of the lake. Bewildered, he watched as she disappeared behind the trees and bushes that quite commonly grew on Hogwarts grounds.

He shrugged and turned back to his task, intent on finishing it before six today, but Sally chose that very moment to open her mouth.

'Hey, Malfoy!' she called, her tone playful but with a touch of steel. 'Why don't you go and find out why she's out of class?'

He shot her an incredulous look. 'You want me to _run_ after her? Are you mad?'

'Tut, tut, don't you go insulting your elders, little Malfoy!' she replied. 'I want to know what she's doing.'

'Why?' he pressed.

She shrugged elegantly. 'I'm _bored_, you idiot. And this little chit running about when she should be in class is interesting. Who is she, anyway?'

'It's Hermione Granger,' he answered grumpily. 'Potter's friend.'

'Ooh!' Sally cried with delight. 'You mean the Mudblood? Then you definitely have to go see what she's doing!'

'Why don't you go see yourself?' he snapped, growing tired of this stupid conversation. There was no way he would talk to Granger at all, not to mention he wasn't about to become Sally's lapdog. The woman had a really twisted personality, if her ideas were any indication.

'Duh!' she laughed suddenly. 'Why should _I_ go, when you obviously know her? She might get frightened if I approach her.'

'Vandever, cut it out!' he said firmly. 'I'm not going to do your bidding.'

'Oh, but you are,' she chirped. 'If you don't want Jenkins to know about your little package, that is.'

He froze, some detached part of his mind marvelling at her wickedness, and then cursed himself, his mother and the blasted owl that had brought his mother's food package the previous night. Only it hadn't been exactly a food package, but a box full of sugary concotions which, of themselves, were quite tasty, but completely missed their purpose.

He gritted his teeth, wondering how to get out of this situation.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he grumbled eventually, knowing full-well that she saw right through his game.

'I think you know very well,' she said sweetly, confirming his suspicions. 'So if you don't want to starve for the next couple of days, I'd advise you to starting running. Otherwise you might not catch up with her.'

He glared at her, quickly weighing his options and coming to the inevitable conclusion that she was right. Feeling utterly humiliated, he started off after the Muggleborn.

He found her after a couple of minutes, curled up behind a bush. He was about to say something acidic when he noticed that she was throwing up.

He stood rooted to the spot, not comprehending the situation. Why the hell was Granger out here, puking in the bushes?! It was completely absurd!

Her retching ceased and she collapsed in a wave of tears, not even bothering to vanish the mess she'd made. Uncomfortable with witnessing such a scene, he made to go away, Sally and her blackmail be damned, when she suddenly looked up.

Her hair was a mess, her robes wrinkled and her face red and blotchy. She stared at him with horror, before bursting into fresh sobs.

'Granger...' he stared. 'What the - ?'

It took him some time to realize that she was speaking.

'G'way!' she gasped. 'Just... go away.'

He was tempted to do exactly that, but his legs didn't move. He stood there, gawking, with a sensation that what was currently happening could not be real. No way in hell.

Hermione Granger did not lose her composure like that. Yes, she did cry and shout and get furious... But she'd rather die than to be seen in a blubbering mess of her own vomit and tears.

Or so he'd thought.

'Granger, get a grip on yourself' he said with a sneer. 'You look like you've just failed an exam.'

'Because I _have_!' she moaned. He raised his eyebrow, confused, but was unprepared for the flow of words that followed. 'I am a failure... You were right, I should never have come here, everything's just so wrong...'

'What - ?' he managed, perplexed. But she didn't seem to be talking to him anymore.

'I should never have come to Hogwarts' she wailed. 'No matter how hard I work, there's always someone better, someone who can do it without _trying_ and even if I do something right, no one cares, because everyone expects it anyway... Everyone thinks I just do it, with no work! I don't have any free time so I can be good, so I can be _the best_, but no one even gives a bloody rat's arse!'

He was so shocked to hear her swearing that he didn't manage to stop her rambling and she continued.

'Maybe I really am a filthy Mudblood,' she mumbled and his jaw fell open. 'Maybe I'm just not good enough... Not powerful enough... Not romantic enough... My parents hate me, you know?' she suddenly asked, as if for the first time acknowledging his presence. 'They are _afraid_ of me. They think that their precious little daughter mucked about with their heads and hid them in Australia just for the fun of it. If they could, they'd have me _burned_ _at the stake_.'

He recoiled at the viciousness of her words.

'Granger, come on, that can't be true - ' he said stupidly.

'But it is!' she sniffed. 'They'd probably do it if we didn't live in the twentieth century... But you know? They did the next best thing – _they threw me out of the bloody family_.'

He just gaped.

'So you see? You and your Pureblood friends hate me because I'm not one of you and my Muggle parents hate me too, for the same reason... Weird how much in common you have, no?'

For some odd reason he suddenly felt sick.

Just as she started crying anew, his father's words flew, unbidden, into his mind. _You should always comfort a crying woman, Draco. It's good manners and might earn you a reward._

But this was _Granger_! The thought of getting any kind of reward from _her_ made him want to run as fast and as far away as he could. But if he really wanted to exonerate the Malfoy name, he should probably show something to indicate that he'd changed somewhat and comforting inferior Mudbloods was as good a choice as any.

So he moved tentatively in her way, intent on embracing her... only to be pushed away.

'Don't bother' she snapped. 'I don't need your false pity. Because it _is_ false, isn't it? You're probably feeling like you should, but don't really find it in yourself to care, am I right?'

She looked at him and her red, puffy eyes were condescending.

'How - ' _dare you_, he intended to say, angry under her patronising gaze.

'How do I know?' she cut in. 'Oh, maybe because _everybody_ thinks that way about me.'

He was surprised to find himself, once again, speechless.

'They think I don't see it, of course,' she said matter-of-factly. 'But I'm not stupid. I'm always trying to do what's best for everyone, I'm going out of my way to help them study, to do things better, but they just think I'm a bossy know-it-all and never listen...'

She seemed to be channelling her despair into anger. 'And they _pity_ me, they think they should like me, even if they don't, because I'm _useful_... I'll check their homework, I'll find an answer, I'll help them learn, I'll carry a bag with everything that we need and I'll even _cook_...'

Draco realized with surprise that she was talking about the last couple of months. The scar on his forearm twitched in rememberance.

But something didn't make much sense. If those 'they' she was speaking of were Potter and Weasley, then it meant that the Golden Trio wasn't so golden at all. And that didn't seem so likely, even though he'd gladly do a happy dance if it were true. Maybe Granger was exaggerating? People often did in these kind of situations.

'Stop this self-pity feast!' he snapped, getting angry. 'You've got everything you could possibly want. You're a war hero, you're Potter's friend, Weasley thinks you're an early Christmas present and you've got your full education and a bunch of career options ahead of you! You've won, Mudblood. Shouldn't you be happy that a Pureblood like me has fallen so low when you've got everything?' he finished with a sneer.

Granger stared at him, incredulity temporarily stopping her tears.

'You are a selfish, spoiled brat, you know?' she burst angrily. 'How can you only think of yourself when I'm like this? Have you absolutely no compassion?'

He snorted. 'Now who's being selfish? You are a bloody hypocrite!'

She looked away, but not before he noticed fresh tears in her eyes. His own widened. This was not like Granger at all! She should be screaming his ears off!

'Why am I even talking to you?' she mumbled more to herself than to him. 'It'll only make it worse..'

He was about to tell her that it was her own fault that she'd started talking, when he heard a shout.

'Miss Granger? Miss Granger, are you there?'

It was McGonagall. Granger immediatelly went rigid with fear and her bloodshot eyes became wide as saucers.

'Oh, no!' she moaned in a frantic whisper. 'She can't see me like this!'

Draco privately agreed, but honestly couldn't care less. He started moving away from her, not really keen on being seen by McGonagall, lest she think Granger's state was, Merlin forbid, actually his fault, but the girl suddenly caught his wrist.

He glanced at her in confusion, only to see her big brown eyes stare at him pleadingly.

'What - ?'

'Malfoy, _please_,' she muttered. 'Please help me.'

Shocked, he tried to wrench his arm away. 'What are you - '

'_Please_.'

He stopped. Something in her gaze, so intent, yet so vulnerable, caught his attention. He looked at her and was suddenly struck by a gnawing urge... An urge to do something, to _help_, to be a good guy, just this once...

'Go to my tent,' he said quickly, his breath hitching at the expression of relief and gratitude that appeared on her face. 'Go before she catches you!' he added gruffly.

She fled.

Wondering what had possessed him to do it, but feeling strangely exhilirated, Draco left hurriedly, extra careful to avoid the Headmistress.

* * *

It took Hermione about ten minutes in the quiet of Malfoy's tent to regain control over her emotions. Immediately after she calmed down, she wished she hadn't, for despair was replaced by guilt and humiliation. She couldn't believe she had told him all of that! Now he would undoubtedly mock her mercilessly and probably mention what she'd said to Harry and Ron and that was something she really didn't want to contemplate.

She had to get the situation back under her control. She'd have to apologize to Professor Simmons and definitely talk to Professor McGonagall – try to persuade her that nothing was actually wrong with her. Then she'd have to work extra hard to show everyone that she wasn't stupid or incompetent.

But before that, she had to clean up and rest for a bit. As much as it pained her to miss another class, she knew she couldn't show up looking like death. She had to keep up appearances, even though such might have been already ruined by her storming off.

Since going outside was, at best, not wise, Hermione took out her wand, conjured a basin with warm water and some towels and sat down to clean her face. That done, she transfigured a stick into a hair brush and began a fight with the angry mop on her head.

Her hair was falling out, she noticed with worry. She shot a glance at her nails, and yes, they were all short and weak. The condition of her skin wasn't very good either. She sat down on Malfoy's bed, her hand suspended over her hair in mid-brush. The pain in her chest was growing stronger and her eyes were once again stinging.

She was not only a super idiot, but also ugly and unkept.

But there was no time to take more care of herself, and besides, appearance wasn't everything – her mind argued with despair. But Hermione wasn't fooled. These were just excuses to cover up the fact that she was a failure in everything that mattered. Not excelling in schoolwork, no matter the time spent on studying, socially and romantically inept and ugly.

The tears spilled over and she cried out from the sheer pain in her stomach. On top of that she didn't know what to do with herself after finishing her N.E.W.T.s – if she ever managed to pass them, that is. There were so many options, but she just didn't know what to choose. There was nothing that really inspired her.

Maybe she should have just died in the war?

She froze, both shocked and unsurprised at the dark thought that entered her mind. It made sickly sense – why should she live and waste all of her opportunities when there were so many people who would have made a much better use of their lives? Professor Lupin and Tonks could have led a life together with their son, they had such bright prospects... But they were dead and she was alive and what was she doing?

She laid down on Malfoy's bed as a wave of sobs overtook her. She didn't move even after all of her tears had been spent, staring listlessly at the ground.

* * *

Draco hadn't expected to see Granger at all after he finished work, coming to a conclusion that she had probably already left. He was therefore surprised to see her lying on his bed and clutching his pillow to her chest.

Speechless, he stood at the entrance to his tent for a few seconds before getting hold of himself. He quickly got inside, not wanting anyone to notice that something was amiss.

'Granger!' he hissed. 'What the bloody hell are you doing here?'

When she glanced up at him, he was struck by the realization that she looked even worse than before.

'You told me to come here,' she said quietly, sitting up with some difficulty.

'To hide from McGonagall! Not to _sleep_!'

'Sorry,' she answered meekly. 'I'll just go now...'

She tried to stand up and Draco panicked. If she went out now, everyone would see her and they'd think he'd done something to her...!

'No!' he said, for a moment forgetting that he should keep his voice down. 'You're not going anywhere. Stay right where you are.'

She locked eyes with him. 'Why?'

'Because!' he whispered urgently. 'Everyone's at the campsite now, do you want them to see you like this?'

She lowered her gaze and nodded thoughtfully. 'I suppose not.'

Draco heaved a sigh of relief. 'Good. Stay right here and clean up, I'll just go and take a shower and when I come back, you'll tell me what the hell is wrong with you.'

He grabbed his soap and towel and a change of clean clothes and headed outside. Sally was thankfully already in the shower, so she couldn't pester him about what happened earlier. He'd already told her that Granger seemed to have a nervous breakdown and he'd insulted her a couple of times until she'd run off, crying. It would have been a disaster if she found out that Granger was hiding inside his tent.

Come to think of it, that lone fact was a disaster by itself.

What had possessed him to do that? This was absolutely unbecoming of a Malfoy! To help a Mudblood – a Mudblood that was already down and should be kicked some more, too – and even give her the use of his personal space...

He vaguely remembered another moment like this, some three, four months previously. It had been almost the same – the urge to help them, or at least prevent anything bad from happening to the three of them had been sudden, weird and without any sane explanation. It hadn't really worked then, he recalled with a sick feeling. Granger had been tortured regardless.

He shook his head and those silly thoughts flew away. He had more pressing matters to attend to than worrying about his confusing reactions to Granger's behaviour under Aunt Bellatrix' _Cruciatus_.

Compassion. Awe. A compulsive need to stop her suffering.

He was glad when Sally finally emerged from the shower. He didn't even bother acknowledging her before diving inside, hoping that a shower would be enough to push the thoughts of that night out of his mind.

Fifteen minutes later he found Granger in the same position on his bed, staring at her hands.

'That's enough,' he whispered urgently. 'Stop acting this way!'

She looked up, surprised. 'What?'

'You're freaking me out!'

'Sorry.'

He stared at her in disbelief. What was _wrong_ with her? Was this some sort of hard PMS case? If yes, he pitied Scarhead and the Weasel if they had to put up with this every damn month.

'Granger, why are you like this?' he asked finally.

She shrugged. 'I don't know. I never break down like this... I don't know what's happening to me.'

Draco noticed with horror than even though her words were calm, she was on the verge of tears again.

'Granger,' he said quickly. 'Get a grip. _Please_. I don't think I can take your crying anymore.'

She smiled wanly. 'Okay.'

There seemed to be nothing else to say and an uncomfortable silence fell over the two of them. Draco, uncertain what to do next, sat down in a chair in a considerable distance away from her.

The quiet was finally disturbed by the arrival of his plate of sandwiches. It appeared on the table with a loud pop.

Granger looked at it curiously. 'Is that your dinner?'

He scowled. 'Yeah. So?'

'Nothing,' she frowned. 'I just thought that they would give you something better when you're working so hard...'

He laughed bitterly. 'It's part of the _punishment_. As far as they're concerned, we might as well starve. We're the outcasts of society, remember?'

'It's wrong,' she muttered and he was surprised to see that some of her life returned to her eyes. 'Is there nothing you can do about it?'

'Tabbs tried complaining, but Jenkins just punished him harder. And I tried to owl my mother to send me something, but it's no use.'

She gawked at him. 'You mean...?'

'That the letter I asked you to send was about food?' he sneered. 'Yes.'

Her face crumpled in guilt. 'I... I didn't know, I'm _sorry_...'

'Yeah, right.'

'I _am_! Do you still want to send it, because I can...'

'Don't bother,' he said coldly. 'I already did.'

'And?'

'And she sent me_ sweets_!' he spat angrily. 'Sweets! How am I going to get proper nourishment eating only fats and sugar?!'

She didn't answer, watching him in silent contemplation instead. He flushed, embarrassed.

'I think you should go,' he said after a moment.

She nodded in agreement before standing up. Before she went out, though, she cast the Disillusionment charm on herself.

'Draco?' he heard her disembodied voice from the entrance. He looked up with a raised eyebrow.

'What?'

'Thank you.'

And then she left, leaving him scowling at his hands.

* * *

**A/N:** Long time no chapter! Well, not really THAT long, considering... Just in comparision to the short amount of time it took me to update the earlier chapter. I hope you're not terribly disappointed. It was all because of my other multi-chaptered story - _Visions of the Mystic Moon_, which, btw, in case you're an Escaflowne fan, you can access from my account page :)) 

Thanks for reviews go to: Astra12, my faithful reader :D and vinh. Thank you for your support.

I hope you enjoyed this chappie :D Leave more beautiful reviews and tell me what you think:D

Love,

Mizuki


	7. Chapter Six

* * *

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Six**

* * *

Professor McGonagall looked at her over her spectacles, her gaze stern. Hermione lowered her eyes and nervously wrung her hands.

'Miss Granger,' the Headmistress began. 'It has come to my attention that you ran out of Professor Simmons' classroom today and missed all of your classes.'

'Yes,' Hermione answered in a small voice. 'Yes, that's true.'

'The ghosts told me you were somewhere on the grounds, however when I personally went to look for you, you were nowhere to be found. Do you have any explanation as to your whereabouts and behaviour today, Miss Granger?'

Hermione felt even smaller and guiltier. 'I'm... sorry, Professor... I... I lost control today. This will never happen again.'

A silence descended over them. Hermione waited impatiently for the older woman to scold her, to give her detention or to dock points, or just _something_, but none of those followed. Professor McGonagall was regarding her with an expression surprisingly close to sympathy.

'Hermione,' she said kindly, startling her with the informal address. 'Contrary to popular belief, I am neither cold nor old enough not to remember the problems of youth. I can clearly see that something is wrong.' She suddenly reached out and took Hermione's hand in hers. The touch was warm, a bit rough and surprisingly welcome. 'You don't have to face your demons by yourself... I realize that I may not be the best candidate for that, but if you ever need help, I'm here for you.'

Something inside of Hermione crumbled. Deeply touched by the older woman's concern, she couldn't keep her eyes from watering.

'Miss Granger?' Professor McGonagall asked gently. 'Hermione. Please tell me what's wrong.'

'I don't know!' she blurted suddenly. 'I don't know what's happening! I'm behaving like an idiot! And I can't stop! I just can't stop...'

She felt Professor McGonagall's warm fingers squeeze her own. She couldn't remember anything more comforting than that simple touch.

'I'm sorry,' she muttered. 'There's really nothing wrong, I'm just blowing everything out of proportion...'

'Are you sure?'

She swallowed. 'Yes. It's nothing. I'm sure it'll pass in no time at all.'

Professor McGonagall nodded, but Hermione had a feeling she wasn't entirely convinced. She was grateful that the older witch didn't press the matter, though, for she didn't think her inner maudlin state should be anybody else's concern. Yes, she admitted, there was something wrong with her as of late, but there was no need to include other people in her own personal affairs. She would have to solve this problem herself, as always. Besides, they would probably just laugh at her for getting so worked up over stupid things.

'No matter the circumstances,' Professor McGonagall said, after letting go of Hermione's hand. 'You still have to be punished. Your behaviour today was unacceptable.'

Hermione nodded gravely.

'First, you will, of course, apologize to Professor Simmons for storming out of his class and to Professors Flitwick and Sprout for not turning up in their lessons at all. Is that clear?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Very well. Since there is no point in docking points from Gryffindor, as there is no House Cup, and giving you detention would only amplify your exhaustion, I have decided on a slightly different form of punishment.' Here, she paused for greater effect. 'Madam Pince has informed me that you spend far too much time in the library, therefore your presence there from now on will be limited to one hour a day.'

Hermione drew a sharp breath, but didn't say anything, feeling the Professor's watchful eyes fixed on the top of her bowed head.

'Furthermore, your fellow Gryffindors, meaning Mr Thomas and Mr Longbottom, as well as the fifth year students, agreed to report to me if they notice any signs of you overworking yourself. You will also be required to eat a full meal three times a day and sleep at least seven hours every night.'

'Professor, but what about my studies?' Hermione cut in quickly, panic colouring her words. 'I won't be able to do all of my homework...'

'Miss Granger,' Professor McGonagall said firmly. 'I can't force you to drop any of your classes, but I also can't have you working yourself to exhaustion. Therefore if I hear that you are not following my words in this matter, I will have to rethink my decision to admit you to this course.'

Hermione gasped in horror. Could she really...? Would she...?

Judging from the sternness of Professor McGonagall's gaze, she definitely would.

'Is that understood?'

Hermione bit her lip. 'Yes,' she mumbled.

'Good. Now, go back to your common room and take a rest. Tomorrow you will apologize to your Professors.'

'Yes, Ma'am,' she muttered dejectedly and quickly left the Headmistress' office. On her way back to the Gryffindor common room, she recalled the painful humiliation she had to endure upon her return from Malfoy's tent. The fifth year girls had been whispering among themselves, not even bothering to conceal the fact that they were talking about her. The fifth year boys, on the other hand, watched her like hawks, as if half expecting she would randomly burst into tears. Dean and Neville's sympathetic glances were far from comforting – every time she caught their eyes she felt like running away, mortified.

She didn't want to think about tomorrow, because tomorrow she would have to face the rest of the school and among them the self-righteous Ravenclaws, mean Slytherins and sickly compassionate Hufflepuffs. For the upteenth time she cursed her flare for dramatics and wondered why she couldn't have had her nervous breakdown in the privacy of her bedroom.

And on top of that there was also Malfoy! That spoiled, selfish excuse for an adult! She was baffled as to why he hadn't already used all of her weaknesses against her and had been kind enough to her to let her use his tent as a hiding place.

Something warm swirled inside of her. He'd been kind to her, even though he obviously didn't like her and she didn't like him... So her initial suspicion that he wasn't all that bad hadn't been entirely wrong! Only inner goodness did not necessarily translate into pleasant behaviour. She should have known that – Professor Snape had been an ample example of this phenomenon...

She spoke the password to the Fat Lady, who gave her a condescending smile, and climbed through to the common room. At once she was assaulted by silent stares. Keeping her head down, she passed them all and went straight to her dormitory.

Dark thoughts kept crouding in her mind as she took a shower, changed into her pyjamas and climbed into bed. As a result she fell asleep only after two hours of fruitless tossing and turning.

* * *

The next day didn't start very well. She had forgotten that her alarm had been set earlier than usual and as a result she missed another hour of sleep. To add to her exhaustion and sleepiness, she realized that she didn't know what she'd missed in her classes the previous day and had no one from whom to borrow notes. She spent the extra hour fretting over her textbooks, trying to predict what the Professors might have covered during her absence.

Breakfast was also a somber affair for Hermione. She deliberately chose a place away from her fellow Gryffindors, but instead of giving her privacy, it brought a new dose of pitying looks and whispers. Being the centre of everyone's attention made her lose her appetite and she just munched on her food, pretending to eat.

But the absolute low came along with the owl post.

Pigwidgeon flew in with the other birds and immediatelly headed in her direction, throwing Ron's letter in front of her. Overwhelmed by giddiness and strange dread, she tore at the envelope with trembling fingers.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Have you gone completely bonkers? Why would you go to _thank_ Malfoy for anything? He's a slimy git and I'm not surprised that he treated you like filth even after you were nice to him – which he didn't deserve, by the way. I don't think you should talk to him anymore. And you can't let him get to you – now he's the one inferior, not you. I still can't stop laughing whenever I imagine him actually _working_! A sweating Malfoy, hahaha!_

_Things at the Burrow are a bit hectic right now. Andromeda Tonks brought little Teddy Lupin to visit and it's total chaos – he's wailing like mad and there are dirty nappies _everywhere_. But Harry does't mind. I tell you, he's head over heels with that little guy. It's a real pity his parents didn't make it._

_George isn't very well. He's shut himself in their old room and refuses to come down, even for meals. Mum's been apparating his food directly into the room. It's really awful, you know? I wish I could be somewhere else than here. There are moments when I think that maybe I should have gone to Hogwarts with you. But then I remember that George left the shop to me and Lee Jordan and we've been trying to sort it out for a week. That's why I didn't write earlier. The Death Eaters almost completely destroyed it. _

_I've got to go – Mum's calling me to do the laundry. _

_Tell Dean and Neville I said hi, okay?_

_Love,_

_Ron_

It took all of Hermione's willpower not to cry right there and then. Not only because he'd managed to insult her in the first line, but also because she felt helpless. She couldn't figure out why she was going out of her way to find reasons to be dissatisfied with the boy who loved her. Why was she noticing all the normally insignificant details about his behaviour, why was she stripping his words down to the molecular level and analysing them piece by piece for no other reason than because they "felt somehow _wrong_"? Why couldn't she just be happy?

She sucked in a sudden breath. That was precisely the point. She wasn't happy. She couldn't be happy. Or, rather, something prevented her from being happy.

And that something, she realized, was herself.

In order not to over-analyse her thoughts, she quickly gathered her books and proceeded to throw herself head first into her studies. The rest of the day didn't pass very well. Professor Simmons was entirely too smug when she apologized for distrupting his lesson and all of the other professors threw her weird looks, as if expecting her to have another nervous breakdown right in the middle of their class. She didn't really want to think about her fellow students. The Ravenclaws openly looked down on her, the Hufflepuffs almost made her suffocate under their well-meaning words of pity and the Slytherins... Sweet Merlin, the Slytherins. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott had cornered her when she was on her way to Potions and with a few choice remarks left her crumbling inside.

'Hey there, Granger,' Nott had said. 'I heard that you snapped yesterday. You know, I've waited seven years for that... I always suspected you didn't deserve the Hogwarts acceptance letter and now you finally prove me right.'

That would have been enough for her to start sobbing, but it wasn't the end.

'Don't say things like that, Theo,' Zabini had chided him softly. 'Granger's already suicidal without you adding to her burden.'

That was the problem with Slytherins – they always knew where to hit.

It was by a miracle only that Hermione had managed to keep her composure long enough to find a secluded place. She spent the next five minutes having a nice cry under a silencing charm in the girls' bathroom and was almost late to Professor Slughorn's class.

Her life was definitely not going well, but she was hardpressed to figure out what was exactly the problem. There was nothing substantial – well, apart from the war and the fall-out with her parents – to make her behave this way. And even those reasons weren't enough – heck, Ron had lost a _brother_ and he was the same as always, if a bit sadder. And Harry... Harry had gone through a terrible ordeal – through _death – _but he seemed to be handling his life quite well. It was only her that was a failure.

A complete and utter failure.

Sitting at dinner and staring at her food she decided that she needed a distraction, lest she start crying again and make even more of a fool of herself. Therefore, without further ado, she went about doing what she'd thought of doing the night before.

* * *

Draco almost fell over with shock when he entered his tent after a shower on Tuesday evening. There, upon his table, was a feast. A steak, potatoes and a salad. And right next to it, arranging the plate and a glass of pumpkin juice, was Granger.

She jerked and almost spilled the juice when she heard his gasp. He gawked at her as she turned, a deer-caught-in-headlights expression upon her face.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, flushing up. 'You're back... I thought I would be done before you... But nevermind, I'm going right now, bye!'

And she was gone under a Disillusionment charm before he had the chance to ask her what the hell was she doing there.

Even though it was painfully obvious, he thought while staring hungrily at the food. She pitied him, so she decided to treat him like one of her lost cases instead of merely disliking him. And as much as Draco resented being seen at the same level as a house elf, it hardly mattered when it brought him a feast like _that_.

Granger, bless her, had outdone herself. How had she managed to smuggle a full meal without anyone noticing, he had no idea, but it sure impressed him. He'd never thought the goody-two-shoes had it in her...

But, he thought with a frown, settling down to eat, Granger hadn't exactly been a good girl since... since third year, actually. His pride still stung at the memory of that angry slap he'd gotten from her. He still wasn't sure he'd deserved it... Though she obviously thought otherwise.

But that was immaterial now. So Granger wasn't a complete grey mouse. So what? She was still herself, which meant someone who seriously annoyed him. Arrogant, pushy and despotlike. He munched on the steak, wondering what it was that made Weasley so obsessed with her. She was obviously smarter than he and probably didn't keep that fact hidden... She nagged and bossed him around, yet there was still something that attracted him to her. And it sure wasn't her looks.

Though she wasn't that bad – he'd seen much worse. Millicent Bulstrode came to mind. Or that witch from France his father had made him entertain when they were on a business trip three years ago...

Draco finished his dinner and – resolving not to think of Granger anymore – grabbed a novel. He read for about an hour before going to bed. He fell asleep almost before his head touched the pillow.

* * *

'Hermione?'

She looked up from her Transfiguration textbook only to see Neville's worried face. He was standing next to her desk and was watching her with concern.

'What is it, Neville?' she asked, partly surprised and partly pleased that he was talking to her again.

'It's ten o'clock,' he said. 'I think you've had enough studying for today.'

She stared at him. 'But I still have to read two chapters and finish an essay!' she protested.

He shook his head. 'Hermione, you know what Professor McGonagall said. We have to tell her when we see that you're overworking yourself...'

'What!' she exclaimed, growing angry. 'I'm not overwoking myself, Neville, I'm just doing my _homework_!'

'When is the essay due?'

'What? What has that to do with - ?'

'Just answer the question.'

'Next week,' she said warily.

'See?' said Neville with a pointed look. 'You can do it over the weekend.'

She narrowed her eyes at him. 'Neville, please don't take it personally, but you have no right to butt into my study system.'

'But that's exactly what you've been doing for all those years,' he said, probably not meaning any harm, but Hermione still felt a sharp pang in her mid-section. 'You always told us when we should do that or when we should revise for that... I'm just returning the favour.'

Feeling uncharasterically aggressive, she glared at him. 'But I made you study _more_, not _less_.'

Neville sighed. 'Hermione, it's for your own good. You're not well right now and you really need to get better...'

'I won't get better if I fail at my studies!' she snarled.

He looked a bit frightened. 'But you shouldn't kill yourself over school...'

'Who are you to tell me what to do?!' she yelled suddenly. 'You don't have the _right_...'

'Hermione, don't be a hypocrite,' Neville said softly, making her stop her shouting. She stared at him in incomprehension.

'What...?'

'You are always telling other people what to do, so you shouldn't be angry with me.'

That was an extremely low blow. One she wasn't entirely sure Neville had been capable of. But whether or not he was mean enough or honest enough to say it, the fact remained that it had been said and half the Gryffindor common room heard it.

Hermione's eyes watered in hurt and mortification. Was this really how he felt? That he could extract his revenge on her for all those years of tormenting? Had she really been that bad that he would want to turn everything she'd ever done to him back at her?

Without another word, she gathered her textbooks and fled to the girls dormitory, ignoring Neville's guilt-ridden apologies.

* * *

The next day was no better than the last. Wednedsay dawned as hot and stuffy as the rest of the week, not helping Hermione's mood at all. She woke up with a feeling that the whole world was against her, but she still gritted her teeth and worked her way through the day, not giving anybody the satisfaction of seeing her slack off. After dinner – spent mostly staring at her plate and counting the seconds to the moment when she would be able to go without raising any suspicions – she went straight to the workers' camp. Once there, she slipped unseen into Malfoy's tent and left another meal on his table.

The idea to do that had come to her after she'd left him on Monday. She'd been feeling both guilty and grateful – guilty for not helping him when she had had the chance and grateful because he had helped her, even though he didn't have to – and thought of the only thing that would repay for both. She hadn't exactly planned on meeting him yesterday, but couldn't resist arranging the plate... She wouldn't repeat that mistake today, simply leaving the food in a package. He was a grown man, after all, he could set his own table.

Hermione didn't stop in the common room when she returned to Gryffindor tower, going instead straight up to the dormitory, where she immediatelly set down to work. Several hours later, half-way through an Arithmancy problem, she heard a loud pop.

To her surprise, a tiny house elf appeared in front of her.

'Miss should go to bed' it said, its high-pitched voice echoing in the still of the night. 'Frissy is not leaving until Miss is asleep.'

Hermione almost snapped her quill with the force of her grip. It seemed that Professor McGonagall hadn't been joking about her punishment. It also meant that her time in the library was really restricted to an hour a day. She hadn't been there since Monday, fearing another fainting spell, but it wouldn't be this hot the entire summer... How was she supposed to prepare for her N.E.W.T.s if she couldn't study?

Resigned, she cleaned up her textbooks and got into bed. She fell asleep with the blasted elf was still there.

On Thursday the weather started deteriorating. It was still sunny, but the temperature was much more bearable. Hermione, though, didn't even notice. She was too absorbed in trying to cram as much information into her head during lessons, breaks and the lunch hour, which she would have foregone completely, were it not for Professor McGonagall's watchful eye.

After dinner, while delivering Malfoy's food, she got a crazy idea.

She dropped the Disillusionment charm and opened her bookbag.

Fifteen minutes later Malfoy found her at his table, engrossed in schoolwork.

* * *

**A/N: **Hello everyone:D Here's the next chapter. I hope you liked it, though I'm not entirely satisfied with it. I've been feeling a bit under the weather lately, so if you find this installment somehow lacking, don't be so surprised. 

In case you're wondering, I changed my penname. Mizuki had been my _nom de plume_ for much longer than Kiki Smith and I got fed up with always having to write both of them as a signature...

Thanks go to: cheeky splash, Astra12, gordongirl18 and sofiazadorian. :)) You are the greatest!

If you liked this chapter, please let me know:)

Love,

Mizuki


	8. Chapter Seven

* * *

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

Draco's life was going quite well, considering the circumstances. The work, though still hard, didn't tire him out as quickly as in the beginning and he was starting to get used to his daily workout. He was not hungry anymore – thanks to Granger's continued generosity – and the weather had finally decided to give him a rest. On top of that, during those last two days Sally seemed to be too tired to annoy him and generally left him alone.

Yep. Life was good.

On Thursday evening, on his way from the shower, Draco expected to find another meal on his table and wanted nothing more than to eat it and then have another pleasant, calm few hours of rest with an interesting book.

His initial thought upon seeing Granger was that she had once again foolishly miscalculated the time. He was about to say something scathing when he noticed that she wasn't, in fact, preparing his food, but rather calmly doing what shouldn't have surprised him in the least – homework.

It took him a moment to gather his wits.

'I don't remember giving you permission to use my tent as a working area!' he snarled finally.

He watched in satisfaction as she jerked and then looked up wildly. Her hair was in a dissarray, there were dark bruises under her eyes, and she generally looked like hell.

'Well?' he drawled. In response, she narrowed her eyes at him.

'Well what?'

'What do you think you are doing here?' he asked, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. 'Are you stupid?'

'I'm studying!' she snapped. 'I thought it was obvious. And don't you dare call me stupid.'

'I already did, Granger,' he mocked. 'Or weren't you listening?'

She only glared at him, fuming. He smirked.

'Now that we're clear on that, why don't you take your books and leave?'

She raised an angry eyebrow. 'And why should I?'

'Because this is my tent and I don't want you here!'

Granger gave him a levelled look. 'I don't have anywhere else to go.'

'Are you mental?' he cried. 'How is that my problem?!'

Something he definitely didn't like passed on her face. Something eerily like smugness.

'Oh, I think it's very much your problem.'

Draco glared at her with suspicion. 'Why?'

She shrugged loftily. 'Oh, maybe because if you throw me out now, I might not bring you dinner anymore.'

He froze, the truth of her words hitting him with such a force that he had to sit down. His cheeks began flushing, but it probably didn't do a lot of difference considering the fact that his face was still sunburnt.

'Fine,' he grumbled almost inaudibly.

'What was that, Malfoy?'

'Fine!' he spat angrily.

'Fine what?' she asked with fake innocence. The self-satisfied smirk on her face unfortunately withstood the force of his furious glare.

'You can stay,' he said finally.

'That's really generous of you, Malfoy.'

He gritted his teeth, completely humiliated. There was nothing he could do but eat the dinner she'd brought him and try to pretend she wasn't there. He ate quickly, ravenous after a day of hard work. Granger returned to her textbooks, scribbling notes in her tight, neat handwriting. Curious despite himself, Draco stole glances at her from time to time, watching surreptitiously as she shuffled through at least five different tomes. He'd seen her work a few times before, mostly in the library, but sometimes at the Gryffindor table. She'd always seemed so... driven. Watching her now, he could only come up with a single conclusion – she was obsessed.

'Why aren't you in the common room?' he asked suddenly, surprising even himself. She glanced up and then grimaced.

'After what happened on Monday, everybody's at my throat if they see me with a book,' she admitted grumpily. 'Professor McGonagall told them to report to her if they see me _overworking_ myself.'

He laughed, finding that idea simply hilarious. 'Really?'

She only glared.

'Well, maybe they're right?' he asked, still sniggering. 'Surely you can see that you're an overachiever?'

'Malfoy,' she snapped. 'Do you want to eat dinner every night, or don't you?'

He fell silent.

'If you want me to bring it to you, I'd advise you to be nice to me,' she finished in a clipped voice. When he didn't answer, she nodded smugly. 'Good.'

He bristled. 'Don't think you can boss me around just because you're playing my house elf, Granger.'

'Can't I?' she commented lightly. 'I think I'm doing that already, don't you?'

He didn't answer, seething silently.

'And I'm not your house elf, Malfoy. I'm doing that because I'm nice.'

He snorted. 'How is blackmailing me with it being _nice_?'

Granger, caught aback, flushed a bit. 'I am not blackmailing you...'

'Yes, you are!' he pressed, sensing her weakness. 'You're using the fact that I'm hungry to barge into my personal space.' He smirked at her wide eyes. 'My, my, Granger. Didn't know you were this much of a Slytherin.'

She was blushing so hard now that her cheeks almost glowed. 'Why don't you just let it go and let me stay here?'

He shrugged, enjoying her discomfort. 'Why should I? I don't like you and spending time with you is not something I'd willingly do.'

'But... But you helped me on Monday!'

Draco laughed mockingly. 'It was a passing fancy, Granger. Don't think that I had a change of heart about you.'

She pursed her lips, looking quite out of sorts. He wondered briefly whether she would start to cry and found that he really didn't want her to – the sight of her crying was too ugly and brought too many conflicting emotions to be comfortable to watch.

'How about a bargain?' she said eventually.

'What?'

'A bargain,' she repeated, staring at him hopefully. 'I'll help you and you'll help me.'

'Granger, I already helped you, so the food is just a repayment. You'll have to think of something else if you want to stay here.'

She thought very quickly. 'I can make you a salve for that' she said.

'A salve?' he frowned. 'For what?'

'For your face, Malfoy.'

'I can make my own salve!' he bristled.

'Then why haven't you?' When he didn't answer, she pressed further. 'I'll bring you the food and the salve and you'll let me study here. Do we have a deal?'

He looked at her, considering.

'Only if you stay quiet,' he agreed finally. She brightened immediatelly.

'You won't even know that I'm there,' she smiled.

'See that you do.'

She flashed him another grin before going back to her books. He watched her for a moment, then shook his head and went to find something interesting to read.

* * *

Working in Malfoy's tent really helped Hermione cope with her post-breakdown stress. Or, at least, it helped her hide the fact that nothing had really changed in her life after her little lapse of judgement. She should have just held her tongue in Ancient Runes – now that she had re-read her essay at least a thousand times, she knew that it was indeed deeply flawed and barely deserved that Exceeds Expectations, just as Professor Simmons had said on Monday. What had she been thinking, implying that a teacher couldn't even grade her essay! It was blatant disrespect and she should have gotten detention for that...

But instead she was now being constantly supervised. Neville watched her like a hawk and she had to go to extra trouble to avoid his nagging. She knew he thought he was doing the right thing, but she couldn't comprehend how _anyone_ could believe that making someone study less would help them. They were at school and school was for studying, for goodness' sake.

In order to shake Neville off her back, she went to Malfoy's immediatelly after dinner and stayed there until curfew. When asked where she was, she only said that she was spending her time outside, getting some fresh air. Neville, bless him, was delighted.

She'd also figured out how to outwit the spying house elf. She went to bed early, keeping up the appearance of having stopped sacrificing sleep for studying, and woke up at four or five to squeeze in as much of her work as was possible. It wasn't the perfect solution, as she noticed that she got much better results when working late rather than early, but she had to make do with what she got.

She wasn't feeling very well, but tried her best at hiding it. Professor McGonagall wasn't to be fooled, though.

'Miss Granger, might I have a word?' she said on Monday, exactly a week from her breakdown. When she obediently walked over to the older witch's desk, Professor McGonagall peered at her with an indiscernable expression. 'Miss Granger, I will be blunt with you. I have hoped that the restrictions I have placed on you would result in bringing you back to health, but I can plainly see that my plan has failed.'

Hermione blushed, keeping her head down, wondering whether the professor knew about her cheating.

'Therefore I must ask you once again to reconsider the number of your N.E.W.T.s.'

Hermione simultaneously stifled a sigh of relief and a pang of anger.

'Miss Granger, while I admire your ambition,' Professor McGonagall continued. 'Two months are not enough to prepare for so many exams. Even for you.'

Almost enraged, Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off.

'Allow me to finish. Were it a normal school year, I would not interfere, but instead cheer you on and have the utmost faith in your ability to excel in all of them.' Here she gave her a tight smile. 'But this situation is very different. I don't want you to sacrifice your life and health to do the impossible.'

'But Professor,' Hermione managed to say. 'It's just two months. I will work hard for two months – well, one and a half now – and everything will be all right.'

Professor McGonagall looked at her sadly. 'I think that you are missing the point.'

Hermione blinked. 'I am?'

'You don't have to be the best all the time, Hermione,' the professor answered simply, once again reverting to that weird familiarity.

'But - !' she spluttered.

'You'll find...' Professor McGonagall continued. 'That there are times in life when you have to satisfy yourself with being only acceptable.'

A myriad of conflicting emotions began a battle right in the middle of Hermione's stomach. A feeling of utter sadness, then a need to protest, then a silent resignation, and then a fury so profound that her cheeks started to heat up – all of them fought tooth and nail to get her attention. In the end, it was fury that won.

'I refuse to accept that,' she told Professor McGonagall in a tight voice, before wishing her a good day and storming unattractively out of the classroom.

* * *

Spending time with Granger wasn't actually so bad. They quickly developed a routine - Granger would arrive with his dinner and her stack of books when he was in the shower and would be already engrossed in her work by the time he returned. Draco would eat the food she'd brought with her and then either pick out a novel, charm his chess board for a single player, or just lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling or occasionally at Granger.

They didn't talk much, exchanging only the odd greeting or goodbye, but mostly staying out of each other's way. She'd brought him the salve, as promised, and his face had returned to its natural pale colour, for what he was eternally grateful.

She arrived unchangingly as well during the weekend, always after dinner. On Sunday he couldn't help but feel glad for her constant presence, as he'd been going out of his mind with boredom. With her there, he at least had an object on which to focus.

The conclusion of his observations was that Granger, unlike him, was never bored. During the several evenings they'd spent together in his tent, she'd never taken a break. The end of one assigment was the beginning of another. Transfiguration followed Charms, which came after Potions. When she didn't have any essays to write, she scribbled notes, when every piece of parchment was full, she read ahead. To his amazement, Draco counted at least eight subjects. The fact that she managed to attend eight different N.E.W.T. level classes filled his mind with both awe and curiosity. The witch had to be on constant Pepper Up to be able to handle the obscenely large workload, there was simply no other way for her to do the work required.

But as the days passed by, Draco noticed something else. The circles around Granger's eyes grew progressively darker, her shoulders hunched, and the state of her hair worsened even more. There were several times when he'd almost caught her crying, for no apparent reason, but she always held the tears in, showing a really surprising amount of self-restraint.

Something bad was happening to her. He supposed it might have something to do with her breakdown the week before... But he didn't really care all that much – he was just bored and curious. There was no one else around, as Tabbs and Goyle completely ignored him now, and Sally seemed to have retreated into her own little world of wickedness – he had a sick feeling that these were _those_ days in her case, though – so he didn't have anyone to talk to anymore. Zabini and Nott had fortunately forgotten about him, probably too busy with their studies, the bastards. He couldn't very well contact his parents without getting punished and Hit Wizard Jenkins was hardly conversation material.

On Wednesday, therefore, he decided to end the silence.

'Hey Granger?'

She didn't even look up. 'What?'

'How many subjects are you taking?'

'Eight,' she said, confirming his suspicions. 'Why?'

'Just curious,' he answered flippantly. 'You do realize that no human can get eight N.E.W.T.s in two months, right?'

Her reaction surprised him. She hit the table with her open palm with such a force that it barely survived.

He almost jumped in fear. 'Oi - !'

'Will you just shut up!' she yelled suddenly, her voice shrill. 'Is it such a crime that I want to pass more exams than everyone else?! Can't you all just leave me alone?'

She caught him off-guard, but he quickly tried to cover it. 'You know, I always said that you were a swot, but no one believed me. Do you really enjoy working your arse off? Because if you do - '

'No, I don't, all right?!'

He fell silent.

'I don't _like_ it, but I _have to_ do it! There's no other way to get the highest grades!'

The angry tears that appeared in her eyes brought him back to his senses.

'But why _eight_?' he pressed. 'Couldn't you be satisfied with five? Like the rest of us?'

'You're not taking any!' she snarled. 'You don't know anything!'

His stomach clenched. 'Oh, yeah? Don't I, really? Well, guess what, I spent the last two years trying to live up to impossible expectations just to satisfy an arrogant lunatic! _I_ don't know anything? Look at you, little miss perfe - !'

He had to duck in order not to be hit by the inkpot she threw at him. 'Hey - !'

'Shut up!' she cried. 'Just shut up!'

But he wasn't about to listen to her.

'Why are you so worked up about school, anyway? There are more important things than grades, Granger! It's high time you realized that!'

And, just like that, her resolve cracked and she sank back into her chair, tears streaming down her face. He watched her as she cried, dabbing at her eyes, trying fruitlessly to stop the onslaught of salted water that poured without stopping.

_Comfort a crying woman, Draco_.

Feeling decidedly awkward, he took the few steps towards her and handed her his handkerchief.

'Here.'

She looked at him with bloodshot eyes. 'Thanks.'

He sat down on the second chair and waited for her to calm down. When her breathing returned to normal, he decided it was safe to continue the conversation.

'Do you really need all those classes? Won't you get a job without them all?'

'I'm... I'm keeping my options open,' she muttered after a moment. He raised his eyebrows.

'So you don't have any ideas?' he asked incredulously. 'Really?'

She grimaced. 'I do have _some_...'

'But none of them are really interesting?' he guessed, nodding. 'Yeah, I understand.'

'Really?'

He shrugged. 'Happens all the time for me. I've never been really interested in anything in my entire life.'

Her eyes were wide and for a moment it seemed as if she'd forgotten why she was crying. 'That can't be true.'

'It is. I'm always bored, Granger. Always. None of the school subjects really interested me. Quidditch did, for a while, until it turned out that I'll never be as good as Potty. Getting a rise out of you three was also fun for a while...'

'Why are you telling me this?' she whispered.

He shrugged again. 'Why not? It doesn't matter anyway. Once I'm done with this shit, I'm going away.'

'Away?'

'Yeah. I decided to travel a bit... There's nothing for me here.'

She stared at him for a moment, before looking away. 'You are lucky, then... I have to stay here and support myself.'

'Come on, don't be overdramatic. You'll get a well-paid job quicker than you think. You're Potter's friend and a war hero and probably have a lot of connections in the Ministry. More than me, at least,' he grimaced. 'Besides, there are always the parents.'

Her breath hitched. 'Don't you remember?'

'What?'

'My parents practically disowned me.'

He frowned. 'I thought you were exaggerating.'

'Well, I bloody well wasn't!' she shot suddenly.

'Well, Potter and Weasley will help you!' he said, grasping for words. 'I heard that Potty was accepted to the Auror training program...'

'They don't know,' she said quietly.

'Huh?'

'They don't know!' she repeated with more force. 'I didn't tell them.'

He blinked in confusion. 'Why?'

'I don't know. I never tell them anything.'

He stared. 'And... And McGonagall?'

She only shook her head. 'Nobody knows.'

There was a stretched moment of silence before she looked up at him, teary-eyed.

'Only you.'

Draco's stomach, for some unknown reason, did a very sudden flip-flop.

* * *

**A/N: **Chapter Seven up! I can't believe there are already so many of them and so little has actually happened. Someone commented on how the pace needs speeding up, but I can't help feeling that everytime I try to do exactly that, the story seems rushed and the character's actions are unnatural and not believable enough. What do you think? In-depth slow build up, or action-packed quickie? 

Thanks for reviews go to: gordongirl18, waffenmac, sofiazadorian, Alaksandra, Astra12, tamy, cheeky splash, clair-du-lune, Shaif and mollusk :) You've really outdone yourself this time:D Thank you very, very much:)

Hope you enjoyed this chappie :)

Love,

Mizuki


	9. Chapter Eight

* * *

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

It took Hermione twenty seconds to realize what she'd just said. When she finally did, Malfoy's eyes were so wide and his expression so weird that she wished the Earth would just swallow her right here and now. She ducked her head, trying to hide her flaming cheeks. 

The atmosphere almost dripped with awkwardness.

She stood up, haphazardly throwing her books into her bag. 'It's late,' she said. 'I should get going.'

'Right,' Malfoy said, his voice funny. 'Right.'

She was out of there within half a minute. She practically ran up to the castle, all the time furiously cogitating her mind. How could she say such a thing to him? He was going to mock her about it now and would never let it go and she would never find anywhere else to study and she would be doomed.

More important, however, was the fact that her statement had been true. Horribly, impossibly and unbelievably true.

Malfoy was the only person who knew about her family situation.

Which should never have happened. How it did happen was a mystery to Hermione. How was it possible that she told him when she hadn't told anyone else?

Then she remembered. She had told him while she was having a nervous breakdown.

That did explain some of it, but unfortunately not all. All right, she wasn't quite herself at the time and had wanted to just shed some of her problems from her shoulders, to get rid of the tension a bit, and he'd just happened to be there. The question was, why hadn't she told either Ron or Harry beforehand?

In fact, why hadn't she told them anything about her parents, apart from the fact that they were dentists, for the seven years they'd known each other?

And why had she told _Malfoy_ of all the bloody people on Earth what she hadn't managed to tell her best friend and her _boyfriend_?

She thought hard, trying to find an explanation. Why hadn't she told them? Was it because she didn't see the need? Or was she ashamed? Maybe she didn't want their pity?

Ron's face, outrageous and sympathetic, swam into her mind's eye. He would comfort her, kiss her head when she cried and then the entire Weasley family would go beside themselves to include her. But she didn't _want_ to be included. As much as she loved the Weasleys, she'd never felt like she belonged.

The truth was, she wanted her own family to accept her.

She wanted her father to pat her on the head and smile and her mother to give her a cuddle on their flowery sofa. She wanted to drink tea together with the two of them and listen to the telly in the background. She bloody well wanted to smell the Christmas tree and eat the sugar free biscuits.

She wanted to turn back time to the years before she received her Hogwarts letter.

It was as simple as that. Going away to Hogwarts had ruined her family. But being a witch was such an integral part of her identity now that she couldn't even imagine a life without magic anymore. It was a no-win situation – there was no way she could have both a loving family and her magic.

But she could create her own family. Have a husband and children... Her own house, garden and a family atmosphere of love, devotion and acceptance.

Something inside of her protested. She was too young to have her own family. She wasn't even nineteen yet! Still a child in so many ways... She needed her Mum and Dad to be there for her, to help her enter adulthood, to give advice when she needed it and to observe silently when she needed to make her own mistakes.

Alas, not everyone got what they wanted. Hermione gritted her teeth, forced her eyes to remain dry with inhuman strength and went straight to her dormitory, not even bothering to end the Disillusionment charm.

* * *

Thursday was a very bad day for Draco. The weather had changed during the night and the temperature again soared. He was already sweating like a pig by the time the four of them arrived at their new working place, which was right below the Astronomy Tower. 

The place and the memories concerning it made Draco's mood foul and his temper short. His thoughts kept straying to that fateful night as they began the slow process of rebuilding a large part of the castle walls which had fallen apart during the battle, probably with the help of a Giant. Dumbledore's words and promises circled around in Draco's mind as he worked, and useless what-if scenarios gave him a pounding headache.

What would have happened if he had accepted Dumbledore's offer? Probably nothing, as Greyback and the Carrows would still have arrived and Dumbledore wouldn't be able to protect him anyway. Not to mention the fact that the old fool was about to die no matter what, courtesy of Snape. Why had he been messing around with his head then? To stall? Probably. He had known that Draco didn't have the guts to kill him, so he'd spun that merry fairy tale of help and sympathy, using him like a pawn.

But what _if_? What if the old codger had really meant what he'd said? What would his life be like now, if he accepted his offer?

Well, he wouldn't have to rebuild Hogwarts, for a start. He would be a free man. No one would look at him with distaste.

Granger never would have appreciated what he'd tried to do when the three of them got captured.

He stopped, grimaced, and forced his thoughts away from Granger, her tearful eyes and her stupid words.

But he was not quick enough to stop the flip-flop.

As his insides danced without control, Draco once again unsuccessfully tried to solve the mystery of his body.

Every sodding time he thought of Granger, his stomach did that sodding lurch. With no exception. And he thought of Granger far too bloody often for his comfort. Getting to bed yesterday, waking up today, eating breakfast, getting dressed, going into the scorching sun and even working under the blasted Astronomy Tower.

If his stomach flip-flopped a single time more, he'd definitely lose his breakfast.

What in the bloody hell was wrong with him?!

More importantly, why did she have to go and say such a thing to him? And then just simply go away without any explanation? That was just plain cruel. Who said things like that to people they disliked, anyway?

And what did she mean, he was the only one she'd told about her parents? Didn't she talk to her two bodyguards? They were supposed to be her best friends, weren't they?

Way too many questions, Draco thought angrily. And not one bloody straight answer.

He dreaded the evening, but the hours of work, instead of slowing down, sped up quite considerably. A bit panicked by the time he went back to his tent, Draco for once wasn't annoyed with Sally being in the shower forever and when she left, he took his sweet time standing under the stream of water, not wanting yet wanting to see Granger at the same time.

Like all dreaded things, the moment he saw her again came far too quickly. She was sitting at the table, as usual, doing her work and behaving as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Draco sat down across from her, ignored his dinner and stared at the top of her bowed head.

'Granger,' he began, but immediatelly regretted it, as he had no bloody idea what to actually say.

'Yes?'

'Nothing,' he grumbled in embarrassment.

She only snorted, her eyes not straying from the piece of parchment in front of her. Draco fumed for a moment, before wisely deciding to start eating. It would not do to act weirdly around her. If she wanted to say strange things to him, all right, but he didn't have to fall for her game. Yes, that was it! She was playing some sort of game with him! Potter and Weasley must be on it, how could they not be? And she was going to humiliate him thoroughly at the end of it, too. Of course, if he let her. And he wasn't about to.

Smirking smugly into his plate, he took his first bite. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Granger look up.

'What are you smiling about?' she asked suspiciously.

He stopped and lifted his head, planning on saying something nasty... and froze.

There it was again!

The sodding flip-flop!

_Bugger_.

She didn't look any different. There were no tears in her eyes, she wasn't saying anything weird, she was just plain old Granger. Come to think of it, she looked even worse than yesterday.

Why then was his stomach behaving so irrationally?

He suddenly realized that she was watching him with a raised eyebrow. Unable to stop his flush, he quickly looked down and pretended to resume his meal. He could feel her eyes burning holes in his head, but didn't rise to the challenge. She got bored after about a minute and went back to her schoolwork.

About two hours later Draco realized that she wasn't going to bring up last night's conversation any time soon, if at all. Either she was as embarrassed as he was – did that mean that she also had the flip-flop? - or she genuinely didn't care. Maybe it wasn't such a big deal and he'd just exaggerated. Perhaps his mind was so bored that it created itself a completely unbelievable distraction. Yes, that might be it.

She went back to her common room and left him alone just before her curfew and without once mentioning the "Only You" comment.

Draco couldn't have described how he felt even if he tried. In fact, he tried very hard, missing half a night's sleep in the process. In the end he was not only more confused, but also exhausted.

* * *

Next day Sally decided that the bitch-free period had ended and her merciless teasing began anew. 

'Hey, Drakie,' she chirped the moment she saw him and Draco tensed, annoyed. 'Miss me?'

'Nope,' he grumbled.

'Aw, don't be an arse. I know you love me. You're just in denial.'

He only glowered at her as she sauntered away, cackling.

The day was a complete disaster. Draco felt more liquid than solid from all the sweat, was thirsty like hell, and by lunch time was so hungry that he couldn't see straight. Exhaustion, work place – they were still below Astronomy Tower – and Sally's good humour turned the life he was living into the seventh circle of hell. The only good thing was that he had enough distraction not to think of Granger and, consequently, the unnerving flip-flopping of his stomach faded to a bearable minimum.

By the time he could go back to his tent, Draco's only wish was to die. Preferably quickly and without a fuss.

And then he got the biggest shock of all – Granger wasn't there.

Nor was his food.

Fighting down the urge to drop to his knees and wail in despair, he contented himself with dropping onto his chair and hiding his face in his hands.

The plate of sandwiches appeared with a pop. Draco ignored it, staring listlessly at the shiny, empty surface of the table. The surface which shouldn't be visible, but covered by stacks of books and parchment.

Ten minutes later, when his self-pity feast drove him into semi-starvation and he was about to reach out for a sandwich, the entrance of the tent swished and Granger materialized from under her charm.

Becoming the immediate target of his dark mood.

'Where have you been?' he barked. 'Don't you know what time it is?'

'Sorry,' she muttered, though it was obvious that she wasn't. 'Got held up.'

'By what?' he cried incredulously.

'Professor McGonagall,' she answered simply and Draco was surprised at the amount of vehemence in her tone.

'Oh,' he said stupidly.

'Here's your dinner,' she said, passing him the package.

He didn't respond, his eyes glued to her as she unpacked her bag and arranged her books. Her face was relatively impassive, but her movements were so stiff and forceful that her anger was quite obvious.

'What did she want?' he asked eventually.

Granger frowned at him in confusion. 'Who?'

'McGonagall.'

A shadow passed over her face. 'Nothing important.'

He regarded her for a moment, before shaking his head. 'Bollocks.'

She blinked. 'Sorry?'

'That's total bollocks, Granger, and you know it.'

Her surprise turned back into anger. 'I don't see how that's any of your business.'

'It is when you are late with my dinner because of it.'

'You should be happy that I'm bringing it to you at all!' she snapped. 'I really don't have to.'

'I thought we had a bargain.'

Her eyes flashed. 'I remember that the bargain involved a salve, not a dinner.'

He started to say something, but remembered the original question. 'What did she want, Granger? Why are you so furious?'

He saw her grip the book in her hands. 'She just wanted to talk about my studies,' she answered levelly. 'You can't really be interested in that, Malfoy.'

He smirked. 'If I say I am, then you can trust me that I am.'

'Fine,' she said, shaking her head. 'She wants me to drop some of my classes. Keeps pestering me about it. Satisfied?'

'Yeah,' he nodded. 'Very. So, are you going to?'

The look she gave him was utter incredulity. 'Of course not!'

'Why?'

'_Why_? Because! Because I need all of my N.E.W.T.s! And I really am doing quite well, thank you!'

He snorted. 'Granger, face it, you look like shit. If you don't take a break, you'll die of exhaustion by next week.'

She was so pale now that the bruises under her eyes stood out, making her look even more like death. He noticed, in some wonder, that her hands were shaking.

'That's not true,' she whispered hoarsely. 'I can do it.'

'No, you can't. You know it, but you just can't admit it,' he said with confidence, then his voice faltered. 'I... I was the same in sixth year.'

Her eyes widened in understanding.

They stared at each other for the longest of silent moments, before she averted her gaze.

'Malfoy, you're a Slytherin...' she said finally. 'Shouldn't you encourage ambition?'

'Granger, this is not ambition. Killing yourself over something that you can't do is stupidity, not ambition.'

She suddenly seemed completely drained of energy. 'So I should just settle for... less?' she asked softly.

Draco's stomach flip-flopped again. Before he was able to gather his wits about him, she continued.

'I always wanted to graduate top of my year,' she muttered wistfully. 'With the highest scores on the highest number of N.E.W.T.s. But then we had to go and fight and I thought I would never be able to complete my education... And then Professor McGonagall opened this course and I thought I would have a shot at my dream after all...'

Draco grimaced. 'Granger, you're still lucky. I will never even sit my N.E.W.T.s. My children will have to live with the shame of having an uneducated father.'

She snorted in half-hearted amusement. 'They'll forget about it as soon as you buy them some expensive toys.'

He shot her a look. 'That's not funny. You're implying that my children will be easy to placate.'

'Hey, relax! We're talking about imaginary children, don't get so defensive.'

'I'm not defensive,' he grumbled childishly.

'Yes, you are.'

'No, I'm not.'

'Argh!' she groaned suddenly. 'I don't have the time for this, I have a Potions essay to write...'

'I thought you were going to quit some of your classes.'

She frowned. 'I didn't say that.'

'But you said that...'

'I didn't say anything!' she snapped. 'I'm not going to quit any of my classes.'

He shook his head slowly. 'You know, I really don't get you. What is the sense of doing everything badly when you can do something very well?'

She stared. 'What?'

'I mean,' he shrugged. 'You're obviously not as good at all of the subjects and you won't get any Outstandings at the rate you're going, but you still refuse to see what's staring you in the face.'

'What's staring me in the face?'

'That if you had less subjects you could do better in them, obviously. Quality above quantity, right?'

She literally gawked, one hand poised awkwardly in the air, the second closed around a book. He could see as his words registered in her mind and her own thoughts started spinning, as if she'd only just thought of that. He couldn't believe she hadn't noticed something so obvious! This was really a priceless moment!

'You're right,' she muttered after a moment, more to herself than to him. 'You're absolutely right.'

'Of course I am,' he said, smirking smugly.

She gave him another blank look, before once again re-arranging her books and slowly settling down to work. She didn't look up once during the evening, but a couple of times he caught her staring, unseeing, at her handwriting, the ink from her quill making an ugly blotch in the middle of the parchment.

* * *

The moon was bright that night. Hermione spent several hours watching its crescent shape from her dormitory window, unable to sleep. Malfoy's words, so wise in their simplicity, kept running around her head. She felt utterly wretched at having failed to see the obvious, but also because the thought of giving up filled her with sadness. She didn't want to do that – it would mean that she'd worked so hard for nothing. But she also knew that they all were right – she couldn't do it, no matter how hard she tried. She was just not good enough and she had to accept it. 

Even though it had to be the hardest thing in her entire life.

With a heavy heart, she decided to meet Professor McGonagall first thing in the morning.

* * *

**A/N: **You wanted quicker updates and here you go :D A brand new chapter in less than twenty four hours, and even a little push to the plot! I can't promise I'll have the next one ready so fast, but I will do my best :) 

Thanks for reviews go to: PJP, waffenmac, AnneM.Oliver, sofiazadorian and tamy. I read all of your comments first thing in the morning and it made me bounce happily in my seat :) Thank you very prettily. :))

Love,

Mizuki


	10. Chapter Nine

* * *

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

'You're making the right decision, Miss Granger,' said Professor McGonagall on Saturday morning. Hermione didn't answer, nodding instead, not wanting the other witch to know how unhappy she was with making the right decision. It had taken her half the previous night and most of the morning to decide which classes to drop, and she still wasn't entirely sure.

'Now, tell me what is your career of choice and I will tell you which N.E.W.T.s are necessary to achieve it.'

Hermione pondered the question for a moment, before venturing tentatively. 'I was thinking of working at the Ministry of Magic... now that it's not so corrupt anymore.'

Professor McGonagall nodded. 'What Department?'

'I'm not really sure... I would like to make some changes, mostly involving the rights of magical creatures... But I don't know where would I be able to do that.'

The older witch frowned. 'Well, the only Department dealing with them is the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but you would need a Care of Magical Creatures N.E.W.T. to get there.'

Hermione grimaced. 'That's not what I had in mind. I don't want to_control_ them, but show everyone that they have rights, just like witches and wizards.'

Professor McGonagall pushed her glasses up her nose. 'Miss Granger, you realize that achieving your goal would be not only extremely difficult, but also quite dangerous?'

'Dangerous?' Hermione gasped.

'Yes. The wizarding world does not like changes. There are many wizards who would do anything to preserve things as they are. And you have to remember that even though You-Know-Who is dead, there is no shortage of dark wizards in Great Britain.'

Hermione pursed her lips. 'But I can't let it stay the way it is!'

Professor McGonagall smiled at her. 'I am not trying to stop you, I'm just informing you of the dangers. I also think that the perfect place for you would be the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, I was thinking about that, as well.'

'Good. As for your N.E.W.T.s... History of Magic and Arithmancy are an absolute requirement, for general knowledge about the wizarding world and logical thinking respectively. Ancient Runes will also come in handy, because some of the older wizarding law texts are written or protected by runes. Other than that, you are free to choose which classes to take and which to quit.'

'I... I decided to drop out of Potions and Herbology,' she said in a tight voice. 'I think I already know enough of them for every day use...'

Professor McGonagall surprised her by snorting. 'I would say definitely more than every day use, Hermione. I distinctly remember Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape mentioning something about a Polyjuice Potion during your second year.'

Hermione tried to fight down the blush, but didn't succeed. 'I... uh...'

'No matter,' the professor waved her hand in dismissal. 'However, I would like you to consider dropping a third class. This would further reduce your workload and you would be able to focus on your most important exams, meaning Arithmancy, History of Magic and Ancient Runes.'

Hermione ducked her head. She'd known it would come to that, but what she was about to do made her feel even worse about the whole thing than she already did.

'I think... I think that I will quit Defense Against the Dark Arts,' she said in a small voice. 'I have already learned all I need to know about defending myself...'

'That's a wise decision, my dear,' Professor McGonagall commented with a warm smile. 'I am glad that you changed your mind, though I'm very curious about what has prompted that change.'

Hermione froze and then flushed in a sudden realization that it had been _Malfoy_ who made her decide. Of all the people in her acquaintance it had been him who, with several well-said words, made her see the error in her thinking. She didn't know whether to be grateful or enraged.

'I finally realized that I was wrong,' she said evasively. She couldn't very well tell the professor that she'd been secretly going to Malfoy's tent to study, could she?

'As I said, I am very glad that you did. And now I think you should head to see Professor Hagrid. You'll find a surprise waiting there for you.'

Bemused, Hermione said her goodbyes and went straight to Hagrid's.

* * *

Draco was working alone and the fact didn't worry him in the slighest. Ever since coming here he'd embraced the advantages of being alone in a situation where there simply weren't any worthy companions. It was better to keep to himself than to socialize with those two idiots – who had become instant best friends, which was even more off-putting than their lack of intelligence – or with Sally the bitch, whose only idea of entertainment was belittling him.

He was therefore unpleasantly surprised when he heard footsteps behind him. He gritted his teeth and pretended not to notice, wanting nothing more than for whoever it was to leave.

'Malfoy,' he heard and his resolve crumbled instantly.

He whirled around, only to come face to face with none other than Saint Potter.

'Potter,' he sneered. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

The other man regarded him levelly. His black hair was unruly, as always, the glasses on his nose were still as dorky as ever, and on his forehead there was the same lightening bolt scar. But some things had changed, thought Draco in dawning realization. The scar was no longer angry red, but faded to a dull pink, just like Draco's Dark Mark. And those green eyes that watched him from behind round spectacles were also quite different. Draco saw all that in less than a second and felt a sickening sensation in his stomach. A feeling of... of kinship.

'Ron and I came to visit Hermione,' he answered simply and whatever weird thing Draco was feeling vanished at the mention of Granger. Was Weasley with her, right now? His stomach reacted with an angry version of the flip-flop.

'So what do you want from _me_?' he snarled, furious and confused.

Potter frowned. 'I don't really know. I guess I wanted to talk to you.'

'Talk?' Draco cried incredulously. 'What about? Maybe you're here to gloat?'

'I don't gloat, Malfoy,' Potter said, visibly irritated. 'And why would I, anyway?'

Draco snorted. 'Potter, don't even pretend you aren't pissing yourself with laughter at seeing me work my arse off the Muggle way.'

Potter shook his head. 'You don't see me laughing, do you?'

'_I_ would,' Draco shrugged.

'Not everyone's like you, you know.'

'Oh, really? What's that, Potter? Some sort of psychological pep talk?'

'No,' he said in a tight voice. 'Actually, I came here because I wanted to call a truce.'

Draco was struck momentarily speechless.

'There's still a lot of bad blood between us,' Potter continued. 'You owe me a life debt, and I owe one to your mother... I don't pretend to like you and I don't expect you to start liking me, but I think we can come to an understanding.'

Draco stood there, sweating in his dark wizarding robes, with Potter in his Muggle T-shirt and shorts, thinking that perhaps, despite their appearance, Potter was the more mature person. And that it was the first time that he'd allowed himself to see the real Harry Potter behind the 'Boy Who Lived' façade.

'You don't owe anything to my mother anymore,' he said finally, surprised at how strong and confident he sounded. 'You've paid that debt by saving us from Azkaban.'

Potter stared at him impassively. Feeling a mortified blush rise in his cheeks, Draco looked away.

'And I will pay my own debt to you someday,' he continued seriously. 'Just you wait, Potter.'

There was a long moment of silence. Draco felt Potter's eyes on him and decided to face him. The other man's expression was somber.

'Well then,' he said, nodding, before holding out his hand.

Time stood still as Draco looked at Potter's oustretched arm, remembering a moment from a lifetime ago, the first moment when he'd truly felt rejected by someone, the moment he'd decided to hate Potter for all eternity.

_I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks_.

His head was pounding as he slowly reached out and shook Potter's hand, the handshake hot and clammy from sweat and dirt. Their eyes locked for a second and Draco had an irrational feeling that this was something momentuous, something wildly important, like a turning point in his life...

And then Potter withdrew his hand, nodded to him and left, padding away in his trainers.

Draco watched him go until he disappeared behind a row of trees and only then did he allow himself to lose his composure.

He sat down on the ground and laughed.

* * *

'Ron!' Hermione cried in surprise before she was pulled into a bear-hug, her face suddenly pressed against his T-shirt. His arms encircled her tightly, as if afraid to let go.

'I missed you,' he said into her hair. Hermione felt something snap inside of her chest and she clung to him, breathing him in, enjoying his warmth.

They heard Hagrid cough uncomfortably from the other side of the hut and Ron hastily stepped away, his hand falling from her shoulders to grasp her fingers. Smiling sheepishly, he led her to the table.

'So, how have you been?' he asked, still not letting go of her hand.

The wonderful feeling of happiness at seeing him here suddenly evaporated, replaced by fear and regret. Should she tell him the truth? Or should she lie?

'I've been... okay, I think.' Ron nodded, not noticing the catch in her voice. She continued. 'A bit tired and stressed out, though.'

'No wonder, you're taking eight N.E.W.T. classes!'

She started. 'Er... Actually, I've just dropped out of three.'

Ron's eyes widened. 'You've _what_?!'

She looked away. 'I couldn't manage to prepare for eight N.E.W.T.s, after all... Professor McGonagall convinced me to give up on some of them...'

And another lie to go with her collection, thought Hermione darkly. She wondered briefly how _he _would react to the fact that she'd been secretly meeting with Malfoy. He'd think something absolutely inappropriate and untrue, probably. Nothing like the professionalism and detachment of their bargain.

When some time passed and Ron didn't answer, she glanced at him, a bit afraid of what she would see. He was gawking at her with a gobsmacked expression.

'Don't look at me like that!' she snapped. 'I didn't want to do that, but there was no other way!'

'Hermione, I thought this would _never_ happen!' he laughed suddenly, catching her off-guard.

'What...?'

'It's _brilliant_! Finally! The great Hermione Granger, know-it-all and bookworm, has finally become human!'

'Who's become human?' asked a voice from the door. Hermione, too busy being alternatively hurt and furious, didn't even bother to move.

Harry came in, greeted Hagrid with a warm smile and sat at the table next to Ron and Hermione. He shot them quizzical looks.

'So? What human?'

'Hermione grew up from being a know-it-all, mate,' said Ron cheerfully. 'Didn't know she had it in her, actually.'

Hermione bristled and tore her hand away from his. 'This is not funny, Ronald,' she said through gritted teeth. 'Why are you two here, anyway?'

'We wanted to visit you, obviously,' said Harry. 'And invite you to my birthday party on Friday.'

'A birthday party?' Hermione cried in delight, forgetting for a moment about being fed up with Ron. 'But will I be able to go?' She bit her lip worriedly. Being a Hogwarts student, no matter what circumstances, had its disadvantages – and one of them was being confined to the castle for the entire duration of the course.

'Of course you will,' said Ron, grinning wolfishly. 'It's going to be in the Gryffindor common room.'

Hermione's jaw dropped. '_Where_?'

Harry smiled, running his hand through his bangs. 'Professor McGonagall agreed to let us hold a small party in Gryffindor tower... Since this will probably be our last contact with Hogwarts for a long time...'

'That's _great_!' she exclaimed excitedly. 'Ooh, I really can't wait!'

The three of them grinned at each other happily and then Hagrid came with his trademark tea and scones, booming joyous 'how have you beens' and 'how you've growns'. Harry and Ron launched into detailed accounts of what they'd been up to for the last few weeks. Ron's was much more elaborate than Harry's, as he'd had all sorts of little adventures at Weasley Wizarding Wheezes together with George and Lee Jordan; Harry was for the time being staying at Grimmauld Place, pampered by Kreacher, bored out of his skull and enjoying his vacation before his Auror training was due to commence.

Hermione listened to them with a warm feeling in her chest. She was still a bit bothered that they had decided against finishing their Hogwarts education, but those awful three weeks without them made her realize how much she missed their presence. Without the Quidditch talk, Ron's sweetness and inconsiderate comments, and Harry's quiet maturity she had nothing to concentrate on but herself and her studies. The former turned her into an overanalysing weirdo in serious need of anti-depressants and the latter into a friendless swot. No matter how you looked at it, that was too much of a combination for her to handle.

Therefore she was really grateful that they were here. It was a pretext to spend her Saturday without books.

After their visit to Hagrid, the boys decided to go to the Gryffindor common room to meet with Dean and Neville. Hermione led the way, with the two of them falling behind and arguing about some insignificant detail about one of the Weasley Wheezes. She recited the password to the Fat Lady, who gave Harry a bright smile, and they entered.

The fifth year girls were sitting together on the sofas closest to the entrance, so they were the first to notice them. Their conversation hushed to a dumbstruck silence. Finally Patricia Stonehall found her voice.

'It's Harry Potter!' she exclaimed in wonder.

She and her two girlfriends shot to their feet and Harry was immediately swarmed by females.

'Oh, _Harry_!'

'I'm so glad you defeated You-Know-Who!'

'Will you give me an autograph?'

'Please, please write something in my diary! I'll show it to my grandchildren!'

'Oi!' cried Ron indignantly. 'Remember he's already taken!'

The blackhaired girl Hermione still didn't know shot him a dark look. 'We're not talking to you,' she snapped.

'I'm not giving out autographs,' Harry said firmly. 'Sorry.'

A collective dissapointed gasp echoed in the common room. Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from saying some choice words about how stupid they were acting. She had to live here for another month, she couldn't afford to be making anymore enemies within the Gryffindor Tower.

Dean and Neville, who had been sitting further back by the cold fireplace and enjoying the scene, now waved them over.

After exchanging greetings and updating each other about their lives, the five of them settled for a friendly game of Exploding Snap. Ron gave everyone samples from the shop, gathered some orders for the birthday party, for which everyone from Gryffindor was obviously invited. There were some close calls, but fortunately neither Neville nor Dean mentioned her spectacular outburst during Ancient Runes, for which she was eternally grateful. She wasn't very keen on explaining the situation to Ron, who would either start calling her mental or demand that she drop out of school completely. Or, which was the worst scenario really, he would stop talking to her because she was keeping such important secrets from him. And that would be, if she wanted to be honest with herself, absolutely understandable. She felt guilty for being that way with him, but she simply couldn't bring herself to open up. She knew she should – _had to_, really – but just couldn't do it. Everytime she tried either he started to talk about something else, or the moment wasn't quite right, or she was afraid that he would think badly about her or other such nonsense.

Maybe she just wasn't good enough? Maybe Ron would be better off without her, after all? Who was she, really? A bossy, unattractive bookworm who always managed to do and say the wrong thing. Why did Ron and Harry like her, anyway? Probably because they were so used to her now that it would be weird if she wasn't nearby.

She shook her head, finally noticing the direction her thoughts were taking. Fortunately no one had noticed her slip into a self-pity session, all of them too busy laughing and having fun. She smiled half-heartedly for the rest of the evening, and when Harry and Ron left, she went to her dormitory feeling hollow inside.

* * *

Draco tapped his fingers on the table with impatience, glaring at his so-called dinner, which had appeared about two hours ago. He shot an angry glance at his pocket watch – it read almost nine o'clock – and, no longer thinking clearly, took the plate and smashed it and its contents on the floor. The porcelain crashed pitifully into pieces and the sandwiches fell on the ground, immediatelly covered in dirt. Draco, a bit sobered up by the noise, looked at the mess he'd made and slumped defeated into his chair.

What was _happening_ to him? Was this situation really calling for such strong emotions?

Yes, Granger had wronged him. Hell, she completely violated the rules of their bargain. Instead of bringing his dinner, as was agreed, she was spending quality time with her two boyfriends.

His stomach and chest were clenched with fury. Who was she to ignore him? She should have at least told him she wasn't coming! He wouldn't had had to spend two humiliating hours _waiting_ for her!

Her choice of company infuriated him even more. Potter with his stupid Muggle shoes and weird, ancient eyes... And Weasley! The thickheaded weasel with his too-small clothes and too-red hair, whose anguished cries of "Hermione!" still echoed in Draco's mind...

He closed his eyes, trying not to remember that moment, trying to keep the image of Granger sprawled on the floor out of his head. She'd looked so pitiful then, so broken, screaming and trashing under the Cruciatus... He recalled the sick feeling that had penetrated his mind, how impressed he'd been when she'd managed not to spill all of her deepest, darkest secrets... How futile had his earlier efforts not to expose them been in comparision to her bravery...

He shook himself out of his stupor, coming back to the present. It was absurd to think about it, to be angry at Weasley for being the one who had taken her out of there, for being the one who had acted, who hadn't been a helpless little shit. It was also absurd to be upset about the fact that it was Weasley who was with her right now. It did not make sense at all to feel this way.

He glanced at his destroyed dinner, took out his wand and cleared it all away with a single wave. It did not matter anyway. He'd lost his appetite.

* * *

**A/N:**Hello everyone... I'm very sorry for the long absence... My only excuse is that I've started university and I no longer have so much free time... Besides, this was kind of a difficult chapter to write. Not much happened and I had to struggle with Ron and Harry, and I'm not exactly sure that I managed to pull it off... But I still hope you enjoyed it:D

Important thing: big thanks go to my beta reader, the wonderful Kazfeist:D She was so nice to check all of the earlier chapters, too, putting up with my coma aversion :P

Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter! You're the greatest:D

Love,

Mizuki


	11. Chapter Ten

* * *

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

It wasn't until Sunday afternoon than Hermione realised she had forgotten all about Malfoy the day before. Dreading his snide remarks, she sped to his tent, pressing the packaged dinner to her chest. She couldn't believe she had been so irresponsible...! He had probably been starving yesterday and all because of her being distracted. 

A cold feeling washed over her at the memory of one of those distractions. Ron's good-bye kiss hadn't been worse than usual – customary stupid tongue flapping – but she had barely restrained herself from pushing away and running up to her dormitory in disgust. She'd spent three long hours agonizing over her behaviour, telling herself that she was being cruel, that her expectactions were too high, that it wasn't Ron's fault, and besides, it wasn't something to feel this bad about. It was just a kiss, for Goodness' sake.

She spotted the campsite and quickened her pace. Her book bag, lighter than normal, hit her hip to the rhythm of her steps, reminding her of the fact that she had dropped out of three important classes. She still felt uneasy about it – and Ron's jabs yesterday really hadn't helped the situation – but, she figured, she couldn't do anything about it now.

When she entered Malfoy's tent, he wasn't there. A bit perplexed – he didn't work on Sundays, did he? - she lifted the Disillusionment charm, walked over to the table and put the package on its surface. The book bag made a thud-like, tired sound as she set it down on the floor, settling herself on one of the available chairs. From where she sat, she had a good view of the entrance, so she wouldn't be strartled when Draco came back. She reached for her books, but thought better of it, thinking that since he wasn't here anyway, she might have a look around. The first time she'd been here wasn't exactly a good time for exploration, and during all the others Malfoy was with her, so it had been impossible to take a peek. There wasn't much to see – the place was small, far too small for a Malfoy, and quite bare. A single bed, the table she was sitting at, three chairs, a wardrobe and a bookshelf.

The latter was the object she was particularly interested in. It was filled to the brim with all kinds of books – hardcover and paperback, old and new, colourful and plain, thick and slim. During all the time she'd spend studying here, she had noticed that more often than not you could find Malfoy reading one of them, sometimes frowning in concentration, and sometimes even chuckling. And the most astonishing thing about it was that she was certain that they weren't textbooks. Was Malfoy reading Muggle literature?

Intent on finding out, she walked over to the bookshelf and started reading the titles. _The Unspeakable_ by Tristan Bane,_Bewitching Helen_ by Miranda Blockerhurst, _Samhain Project_ by Marcus Malfoy...

'What do you think you're doing?' asked a cold voice, catching her off-guard. She whirled around, her heart in her throat.

'I...'

'I don't remember giving you permission to look through my things, Granger,' said Malfoy, stepping inside. He didn't look too well – there were circles around his eyes and his blond hair fell dishelved onto his forehead. A crazy thought entered Hermione's mind, but she immediatelly pushed it aside. It wasn't healthy to think about how transparent his skin was and how well it went with the fairness of his hair and his steel-grey eyes.

'I'm sorry,' she said hastily. 'I didn't mean to...'

'Save it,' he snapped, sitting down heavily on one of the chairs. 'I thought you have forgotten about our little agreement. But I guess I can't really compete with Potty and the Weasel, can I?'

The sneer he gave her somehow both hurt and infuriated her more than it would usually do. Probably because she already felt guilty enough about the situation without him adding his oh-so-kind comments.

'I'm really sorry,' she said, knowing that he wouldn't care. 'I had a really bad day yesterday and I forgot.'

He snorted, but didn't answer, reaching for today's dinner instead. It was fish and chips.

'Great,' he muttered, dejected, but quickly set down to eat, even though it was obvious that he would rather be eating something else.

'You don't like it?' she ventured tentatively.

'Of course I don't like it,' he said angrily after swallowing. 'At home I eat French cuisine, not this tasteless crude shit.'

'Oh, French cuisine is my favourite! But I also like Italian... and oriental is quite good, too, though I can't decide which I like better – Chinese or Japanese...'

'Definitelty Chinese. The idea of raw fish gives me the creeps.'

'But Japanese don't only eat raw fish, there are all sorts of other dishes, too...'

He shrugged and resumed eating and she took it as a sign that he didn't want to be interrupted anymore. She took out her Arithmancy books, but hesitated before starting her study session.

'Malfoy?'

'What?'

'I... I quit some of my classes.'

He stopped eating and looked her in the eye. 'Really? Which ones?'

'Potions, Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts.'

His eyebrows travelled upwards, beneath the white-blond bangs. 'Why?'

She averted her eyes. 'Like you said... it's better to do less things well than to do a lot of things badly.'

When she looked back at him, he was smirking. 'Good to know that you finally see my wisdom.'

She decided to ignore the comment, focusing on what she was going to say next.

'Since I won't have so much work anymore, I thought that I might go back to the common room to study,' at his alarmed expression, she continued. 'I'll bring your dinner as agreed, though, you don't have to worry.'

An awkward silence filled the tent. Malfoy looked kind of weird, first panicked – she didn't dare think the word „freaked out" - then, for a second, determined and finally strangely aloof.

'You can stay here, if you want, Granger,' he said with a shrug. 'In fact, it would be better if you did.'

'Why?' she asked, a bit suspicious.

'Because then I won't owe you anything for the food. We'll be even.'

She regarded him guardedly, but he was back to his normal, indifferent self, no trace of that odd uncertainity she'd seen just seconds before.

'All right,' she agreed finally.

'Good. Now can you stop interrupting my meal? I'm trying to eat this, even if it's inedible.'

She smiled in amusement and opened the Arithmancy text book. It was her most difficult subject, and if she wanted to get into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she had to have the highest grades. Therefore, she had to work hard, even though she had less to do.

If you didn't count the moment when Malfoy started laughing almost hysterically at something he read in one of his books, the rest of the evening passed without incident.

* * *

It soon became apparent that with her reduced workload Hermione gained a lot of free time. She had always been quick and efficient in her studies, and the added bonus of a full eight hours of sleep each day resulted in her finishing her tasks in half the time she would have needed before she dropped out of some of her classes. At first, she wasn't entirely sure what to do with the free hours, especially since Harry and Ron were not here to hang out with and Dean and Neville were too busy with their own N.E.W.T. preparations, but finally decided against originality and went to the library in search of some light reading. 

'Granger, what is that large, ancient book doing on my table?' Draco asked on Wednesday, pointing to a particularly interesting, old volume about the theory of magic. She had found it in the depths of the library two hours earlier and had to spend full five minutes on persuading Madam Pince to let her borrow it.

'Oh, it's too big to fit in my book bag,' she said matter-of-factly.

'Ever heard of a shrinking charm?' he sneered. When she started to protest, that it was too valuable a book to simply shrink it, he waved it away. 'Nevermind. Why are you reading it, anyway? It doesn't have anything to do with school, does it?'

'I'm reading it for fun,' she stated crisply. 'You should know, you do it all the time.'

'Do you honestly call reading an obscure book half in Middle English and half in Latin _fun_?' he cried incredulously.

'What's wrong with that?'

He snorted. 'I don't know, maybe the fact that you're a freak?'

'I am not!' she snapped.

'Yes, you are, Granger. Normal people read _novels_.'

She gaped at him. 'You mean that those books... Those are novels?'

'Yeah,' he shrugged. 'Why are you so surprised?'

'Well, maybe because I never thought you would read something written by a Muggle.'

He frowned. 'What gave you the idea that they are written by Muggles?'

'Uh...' she hesitated. 'Well, because there is no wizarding literature, is there?'

Malfoy surprised her by looking mortally offended. 'That's why Mudbloods shouldn't be admitted to Hogwarts!' he spat. 'They don't know anything about our world!'

Anger and hurt made her lose her composure. 'Don't call me a Mudblood!'

Malfoy froze, his eyes wide, his mouth still open. For a moment he stared at her in confusion, before flushing and looking away. 'Sorry.'

Silence fell over the two of them. Hermione watched him stare ahead, hardly able to register the fact that he had just apologized to her, too absorbed in his sharp profile and the faint blush on his otherwise pale cheeks.

Before knowing it, all of her righteous anger evaporated and she suddenly felt guilty.

Eventually, she was the first to speak.

'I'm sorry that I didn't know about wizarding literature,' she said quietly. 'But I was never interested in it, anyway...'

'You mean, you've never read novels?'

'Of course I did. I read everything assigned at school and all the classics everyone should know, but... no, I don't remember reading novels for pleasure.'

He frowned. 'Then what do you read for pleasure?'

'Textbooks,' she answered with a shrug. 'Things you can learn from. My parents never read novels, too. They always said that they were impractical.'

Malfoy's expression was impassive as he watched her. After a moment, she started feeling uncomfortable under his close scrutiny. 'What?'

'Nothing,' he said. 'I was just thinking... Are you willing to read something from my collection?'

'Why?'

He pursed his lips. 'Yes or no?'

She pondered the question for a moment, before coming to a conclusion that she had nothing to lose. 'All right.'

She was once again caught off guard by the small, boyish grin that immediatelly appeared on his face. Something fluttered inside of her stomach as her eyes followed him to the bookshelf. The feeling didn't leave her even when he returned, still smiling, and gave her a book approximately five hundred pages long.

'_The Unspeakable_,' she read, realizing that it was one of the books she'd seen on Sunday.

'It's one of my favourites,' he said proudly. 'Tristan Bane is a really great author. His characters are so well-developed that you hardly notice that they are fictional. And the plot twists... Simply marvelous.'

She regarded him in awe, watched as his normally cool expression became animated with interest and passion. He was finally showing a side of himself that she could really, honestly like.

She smiled as the fluttering in her stomach came back.

'Thank you,' she said. 'I'll read it as soon as I can.'

She was rewarded with a wide, unguarded grin and decided that even if she didn't like the book, it couldn't be a waste of time if it gave her the opportunity to see it.

* * *

'I finished it,' said Granger upon entering his tent on Friday. She was smiling. 

'And?' he asked, trying to appear indifferent, while inside experiencing a heavy case of the recurring flip-flop. He was starting to suspect that it had to do with Granger, but couldn't really bring himself to think further about it, lest it brought him to potentially unpleasant conclusions.

'It's great!' she cried, sitting down next to him on the bed. His breath got caught in his throat, but she seemed unaware of his discomposure.

'I've never thought I would enjoy reading a thriller!' she laughed. 'But this was exceptional work. I mean, it had _everything_.'

Draco agreed. The reason he liked _The Unspeakable_ so much was because it covered a variety of subjects in such a subtle way that even the Ministry's censorship hadn't managed to put a finger to it. It was a story about an accomplished Unspeakable who, by accident, discovered a secret that should never have been discovered. He was then found out by authorities and had to run, because they wanted to shut him up, no matter the means. There was a note at the beginning, assuring the readers that the plot was purely fictional, but every intelligent person could see references to the Ministry's corruption and to the general state of the wizarding world. It criticised the old-fashioned, pureblood scholars and their aversion to new discoveries, but also mentioned that people shouldn't rush into new things without thought. All in all, it was a very good book.

But it wasn't what Draco was thinking of at the moment.

All of his thoughts were full of Granger.

'I especially liked Anthony. He was such a multi-dimensional character, you could never tell what side he was on...' she said excitedly. 'Like that time when he released Fitch from his cell without any explanation. I still can't really understand what were his reasons.'

'It's simple,' he managed to say, grasping at everything that would take his attention off the newfound awareness that she was sitting almost tigh to tigh with him. 'He was half-heartedly with Fitch, but his materialistic nature told him to follow the more reasonable path of not opposing the authorities.'

'But how can you do such a thing half-heartedly?' she asked heatedly. A drop of sweat made its way from her neck down her front, disappearing behind her shirt. Draco followed its descent with his eyes and when he realized what he was doing, it dawned on him that something very weird was happening and it would probably be better to move away. But when it came to it, his body didn't budge.

'I know you are different from all of us,' he said with sarcasm. 'But normal people do a lot of things half-heartedly.'

_Like half-heartedly trying to end this madness_, he thought frantically.

'Really,' she pouted. 'But this was an important issue!'

He looked away. 'If you can't muster enough interest, then you can't, no matter how important the issue.'

She was quiet for a moment. 'You're right. It's not something you can control, is it?'

There was something weird in her voice that made him glance back at her face. She seemed lost in thoughts.

'Being really interested in something is a very rare thing, isn't it?'

'Yeah,' he nodded. 'Actually, I don't think I have anything that really interests me.'

She looked up. 'That's not true.'

'What?'

'It can't possibly be true,' she said, staring pointedly into his eyes. 'Those books... I've only read one, but I would really like to read more, if you'll let me... When you talk about them, I don't know... you're different somehow.'

He frowned. 'Different? Give me a break, I'm the same.'

She bristled. 'I don't know. Maybe I'm being stupid...'

'Wouldn't be the first time, you know.'

She glared at him. 'All I'm trying to say is that you seem like a different person when you talk about those books. More relaxed. Open.'

He felt panic and confusion swell at the back of his brain. What was she talking about? Was she insane? She had to be. A normal person wouldn't be saying things like these to him, would they?

Judging by the wild blush that was starting to bloom across her cheeks she must have noticed what she was doing.

'I... um...'

The awkwardness between the two of them was almost touchable. Draco was positive he could feel it rubbing on his skin.

Their eyes met and they both looked away with haste.

'I'm sorry,' she said eventually. 'I shouldn't be saying things like that.'

'Whatever,' he shrugged, feigning indifference.

'Right.'

They sat in silence for a moment before she sprang to her feet.

'Well then! Is there something you would recommend next?'

Glad for the distraction, Draco quickly put all of his conflicting thoughts aside and launched into a long, animate speech about all of his favourite books. He tried not to notice Granger's whisper of a smile when she looked at his face.

* * *

'Is that a Joshua Crane book?' 

Hermione jumped in the common room armchair, tearing her mind and eyes away from a particularly action-packed page in Malfoy's newest recommendation. For a moment she was both aware of the two main characters defending themselves against an unseen enemy and of Neville hovering over her shoulder and looking curious. After a shake of her head and several blinks she was back to reality.

'Yes, it is,' she said, nodding. 'You know him?'

Neville looked sheepish. 'Actually, I used to read him a lot when I was younger. I liked to imagine that I was like Gades Woods, a powerful, compassionate hero everyone loves.'

She smiled. 'Neville, you _are_ a powerful, compassionate hero everyone loves, you know.'

'I wasn't then,' he said, shrugging. 'Mind if I sit down?'

'No, of course not.'

He seated himself on the sofa across from her. 'I didn't know you read wizarding novels, Hermione.'

'Well, I didn't, actually. I've only recently discovered there were any. I really don't know how I could have missed that.'

'It's not a particularly developped area, really... Not many wizards read them and the authors aren't that appreciated.'

'Really?' she asked, surprised. Malfoy hadn't told her that.

'Yeah,' nodded Neville. 'But I'm glad that you're reading something else than school books.'

She pressed her lips together to keep herself from saying something unpleasant. Why was it that people always had a problem with her choice of reading material? She could read whatever she wanted, couldn't she?

'And I'm really happy that you stopped killing yourself with school, too,' he continued, oblivious to her rising discomfort. 'I was really worried, you know.'

The shy smile he sent her made her feel weird. As she looked at his slightly flushed, open face, she felt a sudden warmth in the pit of her stomach. Even if it was misguided, it was really sweet of him to worry so much.

'Thank you,' she said softly. 'But really, I'm fine.'

'You don't look it, though.'

Uncomfortable with the topic, she quickly drew him into a conversation about wizarding literature. It turned out that Neville didn't know much about it and the only things he'd read were his father's collection of action and adventure novels, most of them parts of the Gades Woods series written by Joshua Crane, and even those he had to read in secret, because his grandmother disapproved of him reading such 'mindless drivel' Though her curiosity was piqued, Hermione refrained herself from asking anymore questions. It would be bad if Neville discovered she'd gotten the book from Draco Malfoy. After her little faux pas during the carriage ride she'd decided to be more cautious about what she was saying. Really, she didn't want to feel anymore alone than she already did.

When she finally went to bed, it took her a long time to fall asleep. Her thoughts kept straying back to what had happened in Malfoy's tent. She still couldn't comprehend what had made her say those things to him. Thinking them was one thing, but actually telling him all about it could be rightfully considered mental. Maybe Ron had been right all this time?

Mucking about with her parents' memory hadn't been her sanest idea, throwing a tantrum over a completely justifiable grade also hadn't been a normal thing to do. Blurting her stupid thoughts to Malfoy could only be considered the cherry on top of a cake.

Did this mean that she was really crazy? But if she really was, then why did Ron want to be her boyfriend, anyway?

She thought about this for a moment and came to a conclusion that if Ron loved her despite of her being mental, then she should definitely try to appreciate it more and stop finding faults in everything he did.

She would try her best during Harry's party the next day. She really owed it to him.

Feeling a bit better, she thought a bit about her Ancient Runes homework before finally drifting off to sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello everyone! It's been a very long time since I updated, hasn't it? I'm very sorry about that... But I do have a reason - the nasty Real Life has had a big part in me losing interest in the story. But I'm back now :) At least for a while xD But I think it's starting to get a bit better, even if it's still extremely slow :P 

This chapter was not beta-read, so I'm very sorry for all of the mistakes.

Hope you liked it :)

Love,

Mizuki


	12. Chapter Eleven

**

* * *

DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

Saturday dawned grey and cloudy. Draco dragged himself out of bed, bleary-eyed and in a foul mood. It was hot and stuffy, but at least the sun wouldn't be burning holes in his skin while he worked. A few days ago Jenkins had informed the four of them that at the beginning of August they would be moving inside of the castle and today was the last day they would spend outdoors.

Draco couldn't make up his mind whether he was happy with the situation or not. On one hand the Hogwarts halls were cool and blissfully sun-free, but on the other working inside meant a bigger contact with the student body. And this included his "best mates" Zabini and Nott.

And Granger.

Ah, there it was. It seemed that he had recently been afflicted with a new disease – hormone-induced blindness. It had one major symptom – considering common Mudbloods as women. And his case was especially concerning, as the Mudblood in question wasn't even that attractive.

Well, she wasn't that bad, frankly speaking. She just needed a thorough course in how to take care of herself. Once she got something done to that fly-away hair of hers, dry skin, chipped nails and an absolute lack of fashion sense she could look passable. Even moderately pretty. Yep, she had some definite potential there. Just the right height (the tip of her head reached his chin, which was just perfect if he was concerned), quite slim, with nicely rounded hips, noticeable waist and a pair of...

He scowled into his breakfast, suddenly remembering what he was doing and what he had decided last night before going to bed. Ever since yesterday's realization about his thoughts concerning Granger, Draco had been wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He had finally come to a conclusion that he simply lacked female company (if one didn't count Sally), and his hormones had decided to react accordingly when in presence of a girl. It didn't seem to matter that the girl in question was _Granger_, of all people.

Satisfied with the explanation, he finished off the sandwich and the glass of water and left the tent.

Jenkins kept them working relentlessly the entire shift to end the outside reparations before the end of the day, so Draco didn't have the time or inclination to think about that particular subject anymore. At four, he came back to his tent, exhausted, sweaty and starving.

To his surprise, there was an owl waiting for him inside. It was large and rather unremarkable and it was perched calmly on top of a chair, a scroll of parchment attached to its leg. Bewildered, Draco took the note and started reading.

The contents of the letter made his eyes go wide.

_Malfoy, _

_I am holding a party in the Gryffindor common room tonight at seven. People from all Houses will come, so I thought you might want to attend as well. The password is _Acromantula_._

_Harry_

_P.S. I know you probably won't be too enthusiastic, but see it as a way of showing where your real allegations lie. Besides, there's free butterbeer._

Miffed, Draco sat down with a thump and re-read the letter once again. Potter wanted him to attend a _party_? In the Gryffindor common room?

Was he _insane_?

How the hell was he supposed to get there, anyway? He had no idea where it was, and he couldn't even go inside of the castle without permission.

But the most pressing question was why. Why would Potter want him to go to his party? Draco supposed some altruistic obscure feelings had to be involved, but he wasn't sure. He had never felt anything of the kind, so he had no idea whether they made you invite disliked former schoolmates to parties. In Potter's case, though, everything was possible.

Besides, they did have a truce of sorts. Maybe this was Scarhead's way of showing he had meant it?

Granger chose that moment to appear out of the blue inside of the tent, scaring him witless. Not that he would admit it.

'Oh!' she cried in surprise. 'You're here!'

'Obviously,' he ground out. 'But why are _you_ here? It's too early for dinner.'

'I won't have time to come after dinner, so I thought I would go to the kitchen and ask the House Elves for something,' she explained, setting the package on the table in front of him. 'Harry's throwing a party.'

'Yeah, I know.'

She blinked. 'You know? How?'

'He invited me,' he deadpanned. 'Can you imagine? I'm invited to Golden Boy's party in the Gryffindor common room. Hell must be freezing over.'

For a moment she looked like a goldfish out of water.

'B-but... Why?'

He shrugged. 'Don't ask me. I've no idea how his mind works.'

'Are you going to come?' she asked, still shell-shocked.

'I don't see how I can,' he replied with a drawl. 'I'm not allowed into the castle and I don't have a clue where the lion's den is. Potter conveniently forgot about it. Or, perhaps, he knows perfectly well and the invitation's a fake.'

She frowned in indignation. 'I don't think he would do that.'

'If you say so.'

'Malfoy?'

'What?'

'Do you want to come? Because I can ask Professor McGonagall for permission and show you the way to the common room.'

He considered his options. He could either spend the evening re-reading another of his favourites and getting bitten by mosquitoes, or he could get to drink butterbeer with people who hated him. Tough choice.

'I might as well go,' he said finally. It wouldn't hurt to have some variation. If things were really bad, he could always leave.

She smiled. 'All right. I'll come for you at quarter to seven then.'

He muttered something under his breath, his mind already preoccupied with the food inside of the package.

'And Malfoy?'

He raised his head absentmindedly. 'Yeah?'

'Do us all a favour and take a shower before I get back,' she said with a raised eyebrow. 'You stink.'

She disappeared, leaving his pride wounded and his chin bruised from falling promptly to the floor.

* * *

He took extra care to look good that night, still remembering the mocking glint in Granger's eye. After spending twenty minutes in the shower he carefully combed his hair and shaved, clipped his nails and sprinkled some expensive perfume for good effect. He wore his best black and silver robes and highly polished dragon hide boots. Upon looking into a mirror he decided that he looked quite well considering the Spartan conditions he had to endure.

Granger wouldn't be able to take her pretty eyes off him.

After all, it was better to have a Muggleborn lusting after him rather than lusting after a Muggleborn himself. Besides, out of his working robes (which, to tell the truth, weren't any less expensive than the ones he was wearing now) and looking his best he certainly wouldn't have to settle on mousy know-it-alls.

Granger came punctually and it was apparent that she'd tried her best to clean up – her hair was partially tied back, exposing her round, tired face and she was wearing a skirt and a sleeveless blouse. She'd also put on some sort of flowery scent, quite pleasant, actually. She was still the same old Granger, though, with no make-up, dry, ashen skin and circles under her eyes.

'Ready?' she asked matter-of-factly.

He raised an eyebrow.

'Then let's go.'

The walk up to the Gryffindor common room was quite nice. They talked a bit about Joshua Crane, but mostly stayed silent and it was surprisingly not awkward.

Draco tried to remember the route they took, because he sure didn't want to get lost on his way back – it was enough of a stretch that he was allowed inside, so he didn't want to check what would happen if he overstayed his welcome.

Finally, they stopped in front of a large portrait of a fat woman.

'Ready?' she asked again.

'We're here?' he said, then considered the implication. He was about to enter the lion's den, full of people who hated him. He checked the wand hidden in his sleeve and nodded.

'_Acromantula_,' said Granger and the portrait swung open, revealing a hole in the wall. 'Well then, let's go in.'

She climbed through, smoothed her skirt and looked back at him patiently. Knowing that he must look like a fool, he took a deep breath and followed.

It would have been easy to say that all life stilled immediately after his entrance, but it actually took them almost a minute to notice him. The conversation closest to the portrait hole hushed and then the silence became deafening as more people registered his presence. Draco raised his chin.

'Is that _Malfoy_?!' someone asked, incredulous.

'What the hell is he doing here?'

Whispers spread around the room, turning quickly into outraged shouts.

'Stop it!' he heard Potter over the angry voices. 'I invited him!'

The room once again became quiet.

'_What_?!' That was Weasley, his voice high-pitched. 'Why would you do that?!'

Potter shrugged. 'Because, Ron, the war is over and it's high time we put everything behind us. Because, guess what? Voldemort is dead! The Death Eaters are either dead or in Azkaban,' he paused. 'And Malfoy here deserves a second chance.'

Weasley almost choked on his tongue, trying to protest, but Potter stopped him with a sign of his hand. He walked over to Draco and looked him in the eye, before once again addressing the rest of the room.

'The world is not black and white. Most of it is grey, actually, you know? But we often don't see the difference and that's why we make a lot of mistakes when it comes to people and their actions. For example, we all thought that Professor Snape was all bad, remember? Well, _I _did. I hated him with all my heart. But it turned out that he wasn't evil – in fact, he was brave and selfless. If it hadn't been for him we wouldn't be here right now.'

Draco watched in wonder as one by one the people began nodding, their thoughtful eyes stealing glances in his direction. One thing was certain – Potter could _lead_.

'Draco Malfoy isn't evil either,' he continued. 'He might have been a right tosser, but he was never evil. And that is enough to earn him a second chance in my book.'

For a moment no one said anything. Even Weasley was holding his tongue, though all the time glaring daggers. Draco involuntarily turned to look at Granger. Her eyes were glassy and she was staring at Potter, her lip trembling. He hoped she wouldn't start crying again. He hated it when she cried.

'So, Malfoy,' Potter said and Draco focused on him again. 'Thanks for coming. The butterbeer's that way, help yourself.'

Draco smirked. 'Potter,' he inclined his head. 'Nice speech.'

Scarhead gave him a loop-sided grin. 'Thanks.'

And he was gone, swallowed by the crowd of worshipping Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

The buzz of voices filled the room. Draco wasn't sure what to do with himself. No one seemed to pay him any attention anymore.

No one except for Granger.

'Wasn't so bad, was it?'

He shrugged. 'I didn't think it would.'

'Really?' she asked with a slight smirk. 'You looked quite nervous out there.'

'Nervous? Me? Like hell.'

'Well, it seemed like you were about to pass out from fright, but I might be wrong.'

'Wouldn't be the first time,' he quipped.

'Just admit it!'

'Dream on, Granger,' he wriggled his eyebrows at her and she grinned.

She looked quite pretty with a smile. So pretty, in fact, that he found himself smiling back.

'Just _what the bloody hell_ is going on here?!'

They both jumped and turned, only to see Weasley glaring at them with barely contained fury.

'Ron!' Granger yelped, her eyes widening.

'Weasley,' Draco said calmly. 'As you can see, we're _talking_.'

'Talking?!' hissed the red-head. 'You call that _talking_?! That wasn't _talking_!'

Draco blinked, genuinely surprised. 'Then what was it?'

'_Flirting_!'

What?

Well… Come to think of it, it had really been flirting.

_Shit._

'Ron!' cried Granger, laughing shakily. 'What are you talking about? Flirting with Malfoy?'

Ouch, that stung. Was he not good enough for flirting? Hell, she was the one who started it!

'Hermione…!'

'Come on, Ron, let's go,' she said lightly, taking him by the arm and leading him away. Not once did she turn back.

Draco watched them go with a heavy feeling with his stomach. Finally, when they were nowhere to be seen, he shook his head and decided to search for the butterbeer.

Wasn't it the reason he came here?

* * *

Hermione sipped her butterbeer nervously.

Ron wasn't talking to her.

He was sitting right next to her on the sofa, their thighs touching, but he might as well have been on the other side of the room. He hadn't spoken to her ever since he saw her talking with Malfoy.

Flirting! Where did _that_ come from?! Honestly!

A small, guilty part of her mind told her that he might have been right.

She had been _flirting_ with _Malfoy_.

Why?!

What had made her do it?!

She had no idea. Worse still, she didn't know how to make Ron understand that it was nothing to be angry about. Come on, it wasn't like she was cheating on him.

She glanced to her right. Ron was deep in conversation in Dean and Neville and was completely ignoring her.

Earlier she'd tried to talk to him, but he sent her a look so cold that the blood almost froze in her veins.

She fiddled with the hem of her skirt. She'd took special care of her appearance today, but Ron didn't seem to have noticed at all. Neither her new hairstyle nor the blouse that was showing much more of her cleavage than she was accustomed to. Even though she'd agonized over her clothes for almost an hour!

The room was stuffy, the butterbeer particularly bitter, and the surrounding atmosphere cheery, but it all made Hermione even more miserable.

Finally, not able to hold back her tears, she excused herself to the toilet.

She couldn't have known that Ron was only waiting for her to leave.

* * *

**A/N:** Hey y'all :) To tell you the truth, I actually thought that I had abandoned this story, but it seems that it's not the case :P I've read through all of the published chapters today, decided that I still liked it and that it needed to be finished... so... I'm back :)

The first part of this chapter was written a year and a half ago :) The rest was finished today :)

Once again, sorry for all the mistakes :)

Hope you still like it! :)

Love,

Mizuki


	13. Chapter Twelve

DREAMS OF GREY

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

Draco was bored.

He had suspected that coming to Potter's party would not be his greatest idea ever, but then again not coming seemed even more foolish. Potter had, in fact, not only saved his life, but also kept his family from falling apart. He could at least attend his stupid party, couldn't he?

Even so, he couldn't help thinking that maybe he should have stayed in his tent. It was cozy, quiet and had a lot of books. And even though in the tent he'd be completely alone, he'd probably be less lonely than he was right now.

Well, he wasn't going to admit it to anyone anytime soon, but he _did_ feel lonely. So lonely, in fact, that the sight of several Hufflepuffs having fun together not five feet away caused his stomach to clench in envy. Even though he was so utterly _above_ Hufflepuffs. As if he would even steep low enough to talk to them. And yet… When they laughed and chatted in the easy camaraderie of friendship he couldn't help but feel jealous. He'd missed the times when he and his group of Slytherin friends would spent time with each other, drinking butterbeer, listening to music and talking about stupid things.

He took a swing of his drink and fixed his eyes on the wall ahead of him, and he would have succumbed to a long moment of self-indulgent pity, had it not been for someone coming to stand right in front of him.

Startled out of his thoughts, Draco looked up, the bottle of butterbeer still at his mouth.

He almost choked at the sight of Ron Weasley, mouth frothing and eyes blazing.

'What do you want, Weasley?' he asked warily, not even bothering to come up with an insult.

'What do I want?' hissed the red-headed weasel-boy. 'I want you to stay away from my girlfriend, that's what I want!'

Draco's eyebrows shot up. 'Weasley, if you find it necessary to mark your territory, why don't you just piss on her?' he sneered. 'Your jealous boyfriend act makes me want to puke, but you're lucky I'm in a charitable mood, so I'll tell you plainly: I'm not doing anything with Granger.'

The pissing comment must have hit a sore spot, because Weasley turned puce.

'The hell you're not! I _saw_ you flirting with her earlier! I saw you _look_ at her like… like!'

'Like what, Weasley?' he quipped, all the while remembering the way she looked with that smile on her face and the way that smile made him want to…

'Like you were about to kiss her!'

That's it. Weasley has officially gone bonkers.

'Are you _mad_?! I mean, really, _are_ you?!' he laughed. 'Can you even hear what you're saying? Why would I want to _do_ that? Have you seen the way she looks right now? Barely better-looking than Death herself. Tired, unkempt, hair worse than Filch's and crazy eyes! Do you really think I would kiss her?'

To his surprise, instead of bursting into self-righteous rage, Weasley seemed to somehow deflate and his gaze turned from murdering to considering.

Draco faltered. Was Weasley… agreeing with him?

He was!

'You agree with me!' he said in disbelief. 'You actually agree with what I've just said!'

Weasley's expression was that of guilt.

Something broke inside of Draco. A weird sort of feeling swept through his gut, making him hold his breath. It took him a second to recognize it for what it was: helpless anger. The very same that he had felt that time in March when Granger found herself at the receiving end of his aunt Bellatrix's wand. He had been helpless then, hating every minute of it, hating Weasley's cries, hating Granger's screams, hating himself for not doing anything, hating the Dark Lord for making him feel it all. And then Weasley came shouting, furious and crazy, and Draco thought that it must be love, it must be real love to make him that way, to have changed him from a wimpy idiot into a man.

And now… Now… He couldn't even put it into words.

'You think your girlfriend is ugly,' he said through his teeth. 'Then why the hell are you still dating her?'

'I – I don't think she's…'

His faltering tone made Draco sick.

He felt a surge of pity for Granger. She was a total emotional mess, her parents weren't speaking to her, her perfect studies failed her, and now her boyfriend...

He wondered briefly why he was feeling this way, but he quickly pushed it aside. He was a bastard, but he wasn't made of stone, after all.

'I've always known you were a selfish idiot, but really,' he shook his head. 'This is beyond my imagination.'

Weasley gawked at him. 'Just what are you - ?!'

But Draco was no longer listening. The Weasel wasn't worth any of his attention anymore.

'No wonder she didn't tell him about her parents…' he said softly to himself.

Unfortunately for him, the redhead caught it.

* * *

Hermione stared at her reflection in silent scrutiny.

She had changed a lot since her sixth year, she decided. Long gone was the childish roundness and the baby fat lingering in her rosy cheeks. Her features, though still feminine, were more pronounced, sharper. Her nose seemed longer, her eyes smaller and less innocent, her mouth more set. She was too thin – an effect of several months of camping out and several more of not eating well because of a complete lack of appetite.

With no proper nourishment and care, her body started to look unhealthy. Her hair was worse than ever, bushy and weak; her skin dry, sore and sickly; her lips bitten and bleeding.

She had never been particularly pretty, but she had never looked like this.

Shameful tears appeared in her eyes. She'd never cared much about her appearance, but even she, the ultimate bookworm and know-it-all, was a woman and she wanted to be pretty. She wanted to be attractive to someone. She wanted to be desirable.

A snort escaped her. Even though she'd tried so hard to be pretty today, it was all in vain.

She was never going to be that. She was a failure. A failure as a daughter, as a student and as a woman. Why did Ron even want to be with her? Why would _anyone_ want to be with her?

The tears fell freely now, making her eyes puffy and red. She tried to reign them in, but to no avail. They flowed down her cheeks, irritating her dry skin, down her neck and into the ridiculous blouse she'd chosen to wear.

To think that Ron thought that Malfoy was _flirting_ with her! With her, of all people! And Malfoy, who liked pretty, well-groomed girls like Pansy Parkinson, for goodness' sake!

For some reason, it only made her cry harder.

* * *

It took her almost fifteen minutes to pull herself together, but when she finally managed to get back to the party, she was more or less composed, only slightly worse for the wear. Inside, though, she was a wreck. All she wanted was to go hide herself somewhere safe, somewhere where no one would find her. But that wasn't an option – she had to go back to Ron, to keep up appearances and to celebrate Harry's eighteenth birthday.

Resolved, she clenched her fist and waded through the mass of people to the place where she'd left her boyfriend.

Only he wasn't there.

'Where's Ron?' she asked Dean and Neville, who were looking intently in one direction. Perplexed, she followed their gazes. 'Oh, no.'

'Oh, yes!' said Dean vehemently. 'I hope he gives the ferret hell from all of us. How _dare_ he come here, anyway, the bastard?!'

'But Harry invited him!' she protested weakly, still trying to process the fact that Ron was standing at the other side of the room, arguing with Malfoy.

'And I can't understand why!'

'But… didn't Harry explain…?'

Dean scoffed. 'Yeah, well, those were some pretty words, all right. But it's not like the ferret's changed any. He's just the same as always, only he wants to save as much of his hide as possible, so he's trying to make some powerful connections, that's all.'

'That's not true!' Hermione said, regaining some of her strength. 'You have _no _idea what he went through, these last two years…'

'And have _you_?!' snapped Dean, losing his temper. 'What the hell do you know about him, anyway? Are you his chum now, like Harry?! Hermione, because of people like him I had to run for my life last couple of months! Hell, that time they brought us to his house! Didn't his own aunt torture you? Why are you defending him?!'

'Because it wasn't his fault!' she cried. 'None of it was his fault!'

'Like I'm going to believe that!'

She felt helpless. Why couldn't he see it? She'd always thought he was an open-minded, kind boy, but now… She could feel the hatred in his words and in his eyes and she knew it was hopeless to try to persuade him.

_It's the war_, she thought miserably. _It's because of the war… it changes people._

'Dean…' she began, but was unable to finish.

'I _hate _him,' he spat. 'I hate him so much that I would tear him apart if it could change anything. And it's so damn funny to see him work like a normal person, like a _Muggle_.' He smirked. 'It never gets old. Poor rich Malfoy, the fucking Pureblood, sweating like a common Muggle builder.'

That was it.

'Dean, stop it! This isn't like you!'

'Oh, and what do you know about me? First Malfoy and now me? I knew you were a know-it-all, but this is going overboard!'

'Guys,' said Neville, interrupting them. 'Hermione, I think you'd better go over there, because it sure doesn't look good.'

Both Dean and Hermione turned to look to where Ron had cornered Malfoy. Hermione gasped. It was becoming rather heated, as both of them were now on their feet, glaring daggers at each other and people were starting to notice.

She was there in time to hear something that made her blood run cold.

'Just what the hell do you know about Hermione's parents that _I_ don't know?!'

She froze and her mind went blank.

'If you don't know then it's not my place to tell you!'

'You bloody git, you tell me right now!'

As if through a haze, she saw Ron hurl himself bodily at Malfoy and almost topple him over by the sheer force of his fury. Malfoy, startled, but still strong enough to keep his balance, tried to push him away, but with no luck. Ron grabbed him by the collar of his robes and was now breathing into his face.

'Tell me now or I'll fucking kill you!'

That broke the spell. 'Ron! Stop it right now!'

To her surprise, he really did stop. Though he didn't let go of Malfoy's clothes, his anger seemed to leave him and he turned to look at her with a weird expression on his face.

'Hermione…' he said. 'He's saying he knows something about your parents…'

_Oh God oh God oh God…_

'Ron, I…'

It felt as if her world was shattering to pieces all over again. Tears sprang to her eyes and her head was pounding. _What should I do? What should I do? Oh God oh God…_

'Don't tell him anything! He's a total bastard!' Malfoy shouted unexpectedly. When she looked at him in shock, it seemed as if he himself couldn't believe what he was saying.

'What…?'

She looked back at Ron and he had turned puce. 'Hermione, I… Don't listen to him, I don't think you're ugly!'

She had no time to contemplate what he was talking about because of what happened next.

Ron never saw it coming. Within seconds of saying those words he was struck in the face and tumbled backwards, hitting a table and breaking bowls full of crisps.

Malfoy stood over him, his right arm raised, his hand still forming a fist.

'What the hell is going on!'

It was Harry, confused and furious. Hermione felt a rush of gratitude. Thank Merlin she wouldn't have to deal with this on her own…

'Malfoy, are you out of your mind?!'

The Slytherin didn't answer, unmoving, his eyes still on Ron, his arm raised. He looked crazy.

'Malfoy!'

'I don't know,' he said simply.

'What?'

He shook his head and his hair fell in his face. Hermione saw his eyes – they were wide open.

'I thought we had a truce,' said Harry angrily. 'I invited you to my party and you hit my best friend!'

Ron seemed to have gotten over his surprise. He straightened himself and tried to hit the Slytherin, but someone stopped him, Hermione thought it was Neville. 'You're going to pay! Tell me right now!'

Harry looked at him, startled. 'Tell you what, Ron?'

'He knows something about Hermione's parents!'

'What does he know?!'

'I don't know!'

Harry turned to Malfoy. 'What have you done to them, you Death Eater scum?!'

Hermione gasped. This was getting out of control!

'Harry!'

He didn't seem to hear her. His wand was out and pointing at Malfoy, who still appeared out of it. 'Speak!'

'HARRY!'

'What?!'

'He hasn't done anything to them!' she cried. 'They're fine in Australia! They just don't want to talk to me!'

Harry and Ron blinked in unison.

It all came spilling out. 'They don't want to talk to me, because they think I'll hex them! They are afraid of me, because I'm a witch and because I changed their memories! And I didn't tell you because you wouldn't understand!'

Ron was the first to answer.

'So you told _Malfoy _instead?!'

It was Hermione's turn to stare. So that was it, then…? He didn't care that her parents weren't speaking to her, but that she told Malfoy and not him. Well, if he'd bothered to actually look at her, he'd have seen that something was wrong with her! Why hadn't they ever noticed anything? She'd always tried to hide her problems away, but she secretly, unconsciously wanted them to notice and comfort her. Was she really so uninteresting? So unworthy of their attention? Was it too much to ask for, really?

All she ever wanted was someone to really talk to about her problems. That was all.

And all she received was this.

She really had to be worthless.

Without a word, she turned on her heel and sprinted for the exit.

* * *

**A/N:** Another evil cliffie! And it IS a bit short, but there's lots of action, so I guess it should compensate for the shortness xD Hope you enjoyed :)


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**DREAMS OF GREY**

_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Thirteen

* * *

**

Draco's hand hurt from when he'd hit the Weasel, but the pain still hadn't cleared his head. It was still a mystery to him why he'd done it. He couldn't think straight. Not when still surrounded by angry Gryffindors.

'I don't understand,' said Potter.

'Me neither,' said Weasley. 'What exactly happened?'

'I don't know. But why did Malfoy hit you?'

Hearing his name made Draco return to his senses. He saw Weasley avoid Potter's eyes.

'You're both so blind…' he muttered in wonder. 'How you managed to kill the Dark Lord is beyond me.'

'Malfoy!' said Weasley, as if only now remembering that he was still here. 'Just why the hell did you hit me?'

He wanted to say that he didn't know, but that would be lying. Though that wouldn't be without some merit – he could still pretend to himself that it wasn't because of what he thought it was. In the end, though, he decided to tell the truth.

'Because even if it's true, you really shouldn't have told her.'

'Told what?' asked Potter, but they both ignored him.

'It's not true!' cried Weasley.

'Keep telling yourself that and maybe you'll believe it,' said Draco. He suddenly felt extremely tired. 'I'm leaving. Potter, sorry for being Death Eater scum and ruining your grand party.'

The crowd parted in confusion as he walked outside of the lions' den. When the portrait closed behind him, he heaved a sigh of relief. He felt unreal, unlike himself, though at the same time liberated, as if he had finally showed his true colours. He had no idea what was happening to him.

Ever since he'd realized that Weasley didn't find his girlfriend physically attractive (though it wasn't so hard to understand, really), he'd felt betrayed. He'd never imagined the goings on inside of the Dream Team would affect him to such an extent.

But it was true – even though they were enemies and he hated them – or had thought he hated them – and he used to take pleasure in taunting them, he'd always known every little rumour about the three Gryffindors. He'd noticed the dynamic between Granger and Weasley, knew they were supposedly in love, but thought it was stupid and silly and that they would kill each other faster than you could say "boyfriend" and "girlfriend". But after that day in March he'd changed his mind about it. If Granger being tortured could make Weasley roar like an enraged lion then it really had to be love. Then it really was possible to love someone when all around there was so much death and destruction. And he'd respected that, envied it, even. That ability to care for another person so much that you could give your life just to save them from pain. He would never be able to do that sort of thing. He was a coward, a selfish bastard, and the only person he remotely cared about was his own mother.

Though it wasn't exactly true, if he had to be absolutely honest with himself. He had been in love with Pansy, that time they were dating. Well, not actually in love – could you call it love, really? – infatuated, that was the word… Or maybe he had only liked the fact that she allowed him to fondle her breasts? He didn't know. He'd always liked Pansy, yes. But would he really have given his life away for her? Were there _really_ people who would give their lives away for others? No one in their right mind would willingly part with their life, would they? They wouldn't, really. Acting out the whole 'heroic death' concept had to be just a way of feeling more special and wonderful about yourself.

Weasley didn't really love Granger. What he was in love with was the concept of being in love with her. They were best friends, they fought in a war together, they went through so damn much by each other's side… But after the dust had settled, after the dead had been buried… The normalcy came back. Sort of. It was an altered, twisted normalcy, but normalcy nonetheless, the grey fabric of life. House chores, school, work, eating dinner, playing Exploding Snap. Would Weasley and Granger be able to stand each other in that greyness?

Draco shook his head. He was reaching new levels of abstraction tonight.

Fortunately, he was already in the Entrance Hall. He stepped outside of the castle and let the cool air of the night calm him down. There was no need to work himself up over this shit. It wasn't like he cared, anyway.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes, he headed back to his tent, steadfastly ignoring the fact that he did, in fact, care.

* * *

Hermione stared listlessly outside the window. She was in an empty classroom, not very far away from Gryffindor Tower, sitting on the windowsill, her tears already dry on her face.

She'd stopped crying some time ago. It was pointless, anyway. No one would care if she sobbed herself hoarse. No one would care if she died inside. Or if she died, period. And why would they? She was just Hermione Granger. She wasn't the centre of the world.

She was behaving like an utter fool. A spoilt child, wanting to be noticed, to be praised, to be patted on the head. She had always been like this, wanting people to see how special she was, how smart, how ambitious, how courageous, how hard-working. Now she only wanted them to see how broken she was and how well she was hiding it. How strong she was despite all that was happening in her life.

But they didn't _see_ it. They didn't _care_.

The truth was, she wasn't actually that strong. She was no longer holding it together. Everything was falling apart. Long gone was the perfect little girl with her well-organized homework agenda.

Her sigh echoed in the silent classroom.

She didn't want to be like this. She wanted to be confident again. Full of energy, happy and powerful. Not this pathetic little creature who cried all the bloody time.

It was her that was the problem. She was the reason why her parents weren't talking to her, why Ron and Harry didn't know about it and why Malfoy did. Heck, it was her own fault that Ron thought she wasn't attractive anymore.

It hurt, she couldn't deny it. It hurt probably more than the fact that they didn't care about her parents. Her pride was wounded. Her own boyfriend? Telling her almost outright that he thought she was ugly?

She wasn't at her best, that was true. But did he really have to _say _it? In front of so many people?

But then again, what should she expect? She _was_ ugly. She'd seen it herself, in the mirror, not even an hour ago.

She looked at her reflection in the windowpane and was unable to see anything passable in her face. It probably didn't help that it was twisted into a grimace because of the headache she had from all the crying she'd done since coming here. She looked away. There was no point in pushing the knife even deeper.

So she buried her face in her palms and rubbed slowly at her throbbing temples. She would gain nothing from crying again. She couldn't change her appearance or the way other people viewed her. She couldn't make them care about her the way she wanted them to. She could only live her life and hope that her friends would sometimes stop to think about her and wonder whether she was happy or not.

Perhaps now was just not the right time for that.

Or maybe she was just exaggerating. Just thinking too much. Over-analyzing.

Either way, she had to stop whining like a toddler. She had to be cool and collected. She had to act as if she didn't need to feel accepted and loved and cherished…

She would go to Ron and Harry and apologize for her outburst. She would tell them that she'd just been too preoccupied with schoolwork to tell them about her parents and that she wasn't so upset about it, anyway. Or that she was having her period and was a bit unbalanced. Or that she was simply tired. Anything would do.

Just not the truth. How could she tell them that she was so depressed that she hardly recognized herself? They couldn't help her, so why bother them with her stupid problems, anyway? Why should she start now, when she'd been avoiding it so well over the years?

That brought her to her second important task.

Before she returned to the common room, she would go to Malfoy's tent and tell him in no uncertain terms that he should mind his own business. Who was he to blurt out her secrets to Ron? After what she'd done for him! After she'd defended him!

Incensed, she jumped down from the windowsill and strode for the door. Their truce was over, as far as she was concerned. She just had to deliver it to him in person.

* * *

She found him sitting on his bed, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand.

The self-righteous speech she had prepared on her way to his tent died on her lips as she saw him. His figure was slumped, his face partially hidden from view, but she could see his eyes fixed on the floor, or maybe on his hands, she wasn't quite sure. Alone, bathed in candlelight, in designer dark robes and with his hair falling disheveled onto his forehead he looked… wistful.

After a moment she decided to speak, but it was hard to summon the tone of outrage she'd hoped for.

'Malfoy.'

He looked up with barely a hint of surprise. 'Ah. Hell of a party, huh?'

'Don't even joke about it,' she snapped, finally gaining back her momentum. 'It's all _your_ fault! I thought we had a truce! Heck, for some reason I thought I could actually _trust_ you – ha, that's one mistake I'm _never_ going to make again – and then you went and completely blew it! What on earth made you tell Ron about my parents? Did you think it would be funny? Let's go and mess with the Mudblood's personal life! How rewarding!'

During her speech his face made the transition from impassive to extremely angry.

'I never asked for your trust!' he snarled.

'I know that!' she bristled. 'But I gave it anyway, because I'm stupid like that! But that is beside the point. Did you really have to tell him? It was my right to tell him and mine alone! And I would have done that. Eventually. I just needed some time to think about it by myself…'

'If you wanted to keep it a secret so much, then why the hell did you tell _me_?'

She threw up her hands. 'I don't _know_, okay? I suppose I wasn't in my right mind, there's really no other explanation.'

'Oh, yeah,' he sneered. 'I remember. You were puking your bowels out in the bushes.'

She groaned in frustration. 'Do you have to be so… so… _mean_?'

'Mean? Me?' he sputtered. 'Just a second ago you told me flat out that I'm completely untrustworthy, that I don't amount to anything and now you tell me that I'm mean?'

She gasped. 'Draco, I didn't…'

'And I didn't even do it on purpose, for Merlin's sake! He said something completely moronic and I just couldn't help it, it slipped out. But you immediately accuse me of the worst! But of _course_, why should I be surprised? After all, Death Eater scum like me don't deserve the benefit of the doubt.'

It hit a bit too close to home. Completely deflated, she sank onto one of the chairs. A heavy silence descended over the tent.

'I… I'm sorry,' she said eventually.

He stared at her for a while.

'Yeah, me too.'

They sat together, not talking, as the seconds ticked by and Hermione wrung her hands and played with her nails.

'I just… I wanted them to notice on their own,' she admitted quietly, almost despite herself.

He glanced at her weirdly. 'Notice on their own? Notice what?'

'That there was something wrong.'

His snort was half-hearted. 'Don't we all?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, isn't that normal? Everyone wants other people to be interested and to care. Like, I don't know. When I was a child I used to sulk a lot because my father wouldn't hug and kiss me every time I fell and scratched my knee. So I started exaggerating my pain because I wanted him to notice and comfort me. But in the end it didn't amount to anything because he started thinking I was a crybaby.'

Hermione shook her head incredulously. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

He shrugged. 'Well, maybe that people don't always notice things about others. Even if they're really close.'

'That's not true. If someone really cares about you they'll notice if there's something really wrong.'

'Are you implying that my father doesn't love me?'

'Of course not!' she gasped.

'So why did he only notice that I had hurt myself after I started crying, huh?'

'Well, uh, I don't know! Maybe he was preoccupied or something…'

Malfoy nodded. 'Exactly. Everyone has their own lives to worry about, Granger. You're not the centre of the world. If someone fails to see that you're having a headache, it doesn't mean they don't care about you. If you want them to notice, you have to _tell_ them. It's really very simple.'

Suddenly she felt completely wiped out. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees before hiding her face in her hands.

'I'm really very stupid, am I?' she whispered.

'Well,' his voice was matter-of-fact. 'For all of your academic intelligence you've been doing really stupid things recently.'

She laughed mirthlessly. 'That's true.'

'Hn.'

'It's just… I actually never wanted to burden Harry and Ron with my family problems. I mean, why would they be interested in listening to me rant about all the conflicts a Muggleborn like me has with her Muggle parents? You probably don't want to hear it either, sorry, I'll just shut up.'

'Granger,' he said, exasperated. 'Just _tell me_.'

She looked at him in suspicion. 'Why?'

'Because I _want to know_! And don't ask me why I want to know, because that's something even I don't know, I just do, all right? So tell. Me. Now.'

The long-suffering expression on his face made her lips twitch.

'All right,' she said simply.

So she told him. The words poured out of her mouth by themselves, one triggering the other. She told him about her parents' disbelief when she first received her letter, about their constant scientific approach to all things magical, about their unease when she took them to Diagon Alley to buy supplies for school… And as she talked he kept silent, listening, not once interrupting with a snide comment about Mudbloods. Gradually she relaxed, revealing more and more information, speaking about how during the holidays her parents always tried to steer her back towards the Muggle world, taking her to the cinema, which wasn't so bad, and skiing, which she had hated. She told him of the silent Christmas dinners when no one seemed to come up with anything to talk about. And finally, she told him of her parents' refusal to acknowledge that a war was brewing and that willing or not, they were in the middle of the conflict.

When she was finished, she felt both tired and grateful. It was finally out, but it had come at a price – she was teary-eyed again.

At the sight of her tears Malfoy sighed.

'Granger, stop crying. If you cry one more tear you're going to look like a dried shrivelfig.'

She snorted. 'Thanks, Malfoy. That's really helpful.'

'Anyway. I have a question.'

'Yes?'

'How much did you tell them? I mean, about wizards and magic?'

She frowned. 'Not much. I mean, I didn't want to violate the Statute of Secrecy…'

'But doesn't it say that Muggle parents of Muggleborn wizards and witches are exempt from the ban?'

'Well, yes, but I didn't want to risk it. So I told them the bare minimum. At first they wanted to know more, but then they accepted that I couldn't tell them.'

She wasn't prepared for the look of utter disgust on Malfoy's face.

'What?' she demanded, growing defensive.

'Nothing. It's just really no wonder they didn't trust you at all.'

He gave her a look.

'Because you didn't trust them at all either.'

She stared at him, aghast. It couldn't possibly be true, could it…? 'Malfoy…'

But he didn't hear her, as if lost in his thoughts, his expression changing from shocked to incredulous to determined in the span of a second.

'Let's go,' he said suddenly.

She sniffed. 'Where to?'

'To Australia.'

* * *

**A/N: **Ah... well. I have no excuse.

Anyways, here's another chapter, another cliffie... I hope you won't kill me xD

Thanks to all my reviewers! You're really great and re-reading all your wonderful reviews made me want to write again! :)


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**A/N:** I can't believe it's been a year and a half. My relationship with this story is extremely whimsical. I want to finish it, but it doesn't cooperate and then I forget about it for months on end. It weirds me out that I've been writing this twisted little piece of fanfic for almost five years already, and I still haven't gotten close to finishing. I'm not abandoning it, but then again, the end of the world might catch me unawares, leaving it incomplete forever. I *think* I envision around 5 chapters more, plus epilogue, but I might be wrong. We'll see.

For what it's worth, I think this chapter is twice as long as the previous ones. It's also not my best work. I'm sorry for that in advance, and hope you'll still like it. Somehow.

* * *

**Dreams of Grey**

****_By Mizuki_

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

Granger's shrill voice echoed in the quiet tent.

'_What_?'

Later Draco would wonder just what on earth made him say it, but at the moment he just couldn't help himself, the words came tumbling out of his mouth completely against his will.

'You heard me. Your family are there, aren't they? You're going to talk to them. Really talk to them, like you just talked to me. So let's go.'

He stood up, adrenaline rushing through his veins, and crossed the tent to retrieve his broom from where it was propped against the wall. When he turned, Granger was still sitting in the chair, gawking at him in utter shock. He didn't blame her. He was just as stupefied, if not more.

'Are you _serious_?'

The question hung between them like a life raft. He could either climb aboard and reclaim his sanity, or he could swim away into the murky waters of madness.

One look at her miserable and confused face was somehow enough for him to choose.

'Yes,' he snapped. 'Stop gaping like a codfish and get a move on. We'll only have a couple of hours.'

'You're serious,' she mumbled, before snorting. 'No, you're insane. Bonkers. Absolutely bloody _mental_.'

Draco grimaced.

'Possibly,' he allowed. 'But at least I'm not a coward.'

He didn't know what made him say it. He knew perfectly well that he _was_ a coward and the girl sitting in his chair had to be the bravest woman he had ever known. Her look of outraged disbelief told him that she knew that too. He supposed he'd said it to get a raise out of her, to propel her into action. Or maybe he just didn't know what he was saying.

He surely didn't know what he was _doing_.

'Listen,' he interrupted before she could gather her wits. 'I don't believe your parents would simply throw you out. I think there must have been some misunderstanding. So you just need to clear it up instead of moping around and driving me insane.'

'Malfoy…'

'We'll have to fly outside the wards to Apparate… But since you're so good with a Disillusionment charm there really shouldn't be a problem…'

He felt her fingers grasp the edge of his sleeve. 'Malfoy… why are you doing this?'

Ah, there it was. The million Galleon question.

He stared at her in bemusement, trying to come up with a suitable reason. He wasn't sure that she would appreciate an 'I don't know' or an 'I just can't stand to see you cry again'. So he latched onto the first thing that came to his mind.

'I'm just repaying the favour, sort of,' he said, forcing himself to sound unruffled.

'What favour?'

He cleared his throat. 'Thanks to you and your friends my family was able to remain intact.'

Her eyes widened in disbelief. 'But - !'

'I know, I know. I'm _here_, my Mum's in house arrest and my Dad's in Azkaban, I know it doesn't look like we're _intact_. But we are. None of us are dead and we are closer than we were before the war.' He didn't really know why he was telling her all this, but perhaps after all the things she'd just told him it was only fair. 'And in only five years we'll be together again. It's all thanks to Potter.'

'But I'm not Harry, Draco,' she said after a moment. 'You don't owe me anything.'

He shrugged. 'I figured that by helping you I'm repaying him at least a little bit.'

Suddenly he realized that it wasn't just a phantom reason. Even though he'd told Potter that by helping his family he was repaying the life-debt to his mother, what he really felt was that he owed everything he had in his life to Potter. And it really wasn't a pleasant feeling. Maybe by helping Granger he would reduce this enormous debt at least by a fraction.

She was looking at him searchingly, worrying her lip, her puffy eyes intent.

'Okay,' she said finally and then her face broke into a soft smile. 'Okay. Let's go.'

A surge of relief swept through his body. He couldn't help but smile back.

'Let's go then.'

* * *

When Malfoy flew them – Disillusioned, of course – across the castle's grounds, Hermione clung to his shoulders, a bile of dread in her throat – not only because they were airborne, but also because of where they were going. It was actually what lay ahead that frightened her more. Flying with Malfoy turned out to feel surprisingly safe – she'd only ever flown with Ron before, and even though he was a very good flyer all around, he tended to make lots of sudden, jerky movements, which in turn always made her feel slightly nauseous. Malfoy's flying was vastly different. His pace was steady, his turns fluid, the muscles of his shoulders relaxed and confident.

'Loosen up, Granger!' she heard his voice over the wind. 'You're leaving bruises!'

'I can't loosen up!' she cried shrilly. 'I'll fall down!'

His shoulders shook under her fingers as he laughed. 'Come on, give me some credit! I won't let you fall!'

Somehow – and she had absolutely no idea why or how – she actually believed him. Slowly, not really understanding herself, she relaxed the death grip she had on the dark fabric of his robes.

In the end, it was over before she knew it. Malfoy landed them on a hill some way outside the Hogwarts wards, touching the ground without so much as a juggle. If she wanted to be honest with herself, it was really quite amazing. A bit embarrassed – was she being in any way unfaithful to Ron by appreciating Malfoy's flying skills? – she hastily let go of his shoulders and stepped away.

'Well, it's your turn now,' said Malfoy, outstretching his hand.

She blinked at him in confusion.

'Come on,' he rolled his eyes. 'You have to Apparate us, remember? You'll need to do a side-along, I've no idea where your folks live.'

And in that very moment, as she stared at his face, slightly flushed from the flight, but still completely serious and determined, was the first time she actually realized what they were doing. Of course she had to have known it before, she'd agreed to it, after all, but it was only now that it really dawned on her.

She was going to her parents' house in Australia.

With Draco Malfoy.

It was really quite ridiculous once you thought about it.

'Well? I'm waiting here.'

'I… I don't think it's such a good idea…'

'Oh, really? Well, you should've thought about it before we left the wards. You do realize that I'm not supposed to leave the grounds, don't you? And I'm sure not going back now to get punished for breaking out for no reason.'

What? She hadn't known he was forbidden to leave the grounds!

'You… You! But it was _your_ idea!' she cried in sudden panic.

'And you agreed to it. So if you back out now, you'll be responsible for whatever they decide to do to me.'

'But it doesn't matter if we go! You're going to be punished anyway!'

He smirked. 'But at least then it'll be somewhat worth it.'

Bemused, she looked at his hand, reaching out, palm up, towards her. It felt surreal.

'I… I'm scared, Malfoy,' she admitted reluctantly.

He snorted. 'And I thought you were a Gryffindor.'

And those words were somehow – _somehow_ – enough for her to grasp his hand.

Without another thought, she turned.

* * *

They Apparated to the backyard of a Muggle house on what seemed to be early morning. It was cool, bordering on cold, and Draco was suddenly very glad he was wearing full wizarding robes. Granger, clad only in her flimsy blouse and a knee-length skirt, was shivering.

'It's r-really early,' she said, teeth chattering. 'They might be asleep.'

'Well, we'll have to wake them up,' Draco answered simply. 'We need to be back by morning and I'm guessing you'll need a lot of time for that talk of yours.'

Not waiting for her, he walked over to the back door and turned the knob, but it was locked. He reached into his sleeve for his wand and was about to Alohamora it open, when Granger caught his wrist.

'Don't,' she hissed. 'We can't just break in! They don't trust me as it is, how do think they're going to react when they see us inside without their permission?'

He considered her words, then shrugged. 'Fair enough. But how do you want to go about getting in before you freeze to death?'

She grimaced. 'There's a doorbell at the front.'

They went around the house to the front door. The entire street was deserted, which probably had everything to do with the fact that the sun was only just peeking around the horizon.

'Shit, it must be around four o'clock!'

'Six, I'd wager,' said Granger. 'It's winter in Australia. And I think it was nine in Scotland, and with a nine-hour difference between GMT and Australia…'

He groaned. 'All right, all right, stop showing off. Are you ringing the bell or should I just do it for you?'

'Malfoy…' she whined. 'We can't just barge in like this! It's six o'clock on a Sunday morning!'

'And if I'm right, they're not going to _care_!' he snapped. Sweet Merlin, the girl was obtuse. Annoyed, he sidestepped her and pressed his thumb to the doorbell.

The sound rang through the house, unnaturally loud in the stillness of the morning.

'_Malfoy_!'

When nothing happened, he rang it again and again for good measure, completely unruffled by Granger's puny attempts at yanking his hand away.

Then, after a moment, they heard slow, heavy footsteps inside of the house.

'Oh, _God_…!'

As the person approached the door, Granger looked ready to faint – or bolt – so Draco, exasperated, caught her elbow to prevent her from doing either. She shot him a death glare and…

… the door opened.

'Good _Lord_, it's five in the morning, people…' a sleepy male voice mumbled angrily, and then stopped.

It was a man in his early fifties, brown hair thinning, eyes blurry from sleep, a dark dressing gown thrown hastily over a pair of checkered pajamas. His gaze swept over Draco in surprise and morbid recognition of his robes and the broom he still held in his hand, and then fell to the left, on Granger.

It took only a second.

'_Hermione_!'

Draco blinked and then his grip on Granger's elbow loosened as she was enveloped in her father's arms.

'_Hermione_! Thank goodness!'

For the next five minutes, as he watched the unfolding teary scene, Draco couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction. He kept smirking all the way through Granger's heartfelt exclamations of 'Dad! I'm so sorry!' and 'I love you so much!', through her father's assurances that it was 'going to be all right', through his frantic calls of 'Yvonne, come quickly, it's _Hermione_!' and finally through the invitation to come inside.

As he stepped into the house and closed the door behind him, there was only one thought occupying his head.

_I knew it_.

* * *

Hermione felt like she was choking. Her father's grip on her was so hard and the onslaught of emotion so overwhelming that she could only gasp for air like a fish out of water. She had no idea how she found herself inside of the house. Between one blink and another she was seated in the living room and her father was clasping her hand and smiling a face-splitting grin. He was speaking, but she was so detached that she didn't catch a word he said.

And then her mother entered the room in her nightgown and with her fly-away hair tangled into a bird's nest, and Hermione found herself once again snatched into an embrace so fierce that as she buried her face into the crook between her mother's throat and shoulder, she felt the dam on her feelings shatter into a million pieces. Shuddering from the overwhelming relief and love, she broke into sobs and quickly found herself wailing into her mother's shoulder. She didn't care that she was behaving like a child. She didn't care that Malfoy was in the same room – was he? She'd quite forgotten about him – she didn't care, because it really didn't matter. She'd finally come home to her parents and she was safe.

'I'm sorry, Mummy…' she cried. 'I'm so sorry! But it was so horrible and so awful and I couldn't let you die, I just had to do it, you have to understand, please… So many people died… Tonks and Professor Lupin, and Professor Snape, and Fred and even Colin Creevey, Mummy… He was two years younger than me! And I was so afraid…'

Throughout her broken speech her mother murmured encouragements into her ear and stroked her hair. Eventually, her sobs died down, but she still clung to the fabric of her mother's nightgown.

'Hermione, love, shh… Everything's all right now… Shh… I'm here…'

She felt the weight of her father's large hand on her shoulder.

'We forgive you,' he said soothingly. 'We were really angry, but we love you, honey…'

'We were so worried,' added her mother. 'We thought we'd never see you again…'

At least several minutes passed before she managed to calm herself enough to be passably coherent.

'So you don't hate me…?' she asked hesitantly, sniffing.

Her mother handed her a tissue. 'Of course we don't hate you. We hate what you did, that's true…'

'Because you really should have told us, honey,' said her father. 'No matter what it was, you should have told us. You cannot do something like that to people's minds without their permission, honestly – '

'Mark!'

'Right… Anyway, just tell us everything from now on. You've kept us in the dark long enough.'

Hermione hung her head in shame. 'I'm so sorry…' she muttered. 'I thought… I thought I couldn't tell you about magic because of the Secrecy Act.'

'What? But we already know about magic!' her father exclaimed in confusion. 'I thought parents of witches and wizards weren't under the Secrecy Act!'

'They aren't.'

Hermione actually jumped in her seat when she heard Malfoy speak out from across the room. She whipped her head around and stared at him in shock and embarrassment. She had forgotten about him. She had been so distracted by her staggering relief and the realization that her parents forgave her that she hadn't even remembered he was still in the room.

'What do you mean?' demanded her father.

'Parents of Muggleborns are not tied by the Secrecy Act, but they might as well be, because the matter is deliberately made confusing,' Draco explained, his voice carefully neutral. 'Muggleborns are not sure how much they can tell their parents without breaking the supposedly existing law, so in the end they edit as much as possible, which is precisely the aim of the Ministry. Muggle parents of Muggleborns know as little as possible and the Muggleborns often become estranged from their families, which then further removes Muggles from the Wizarding community and helps Muggleborns assimilate better and commit themselves to living as a witch or wizard, without the unwanted Muggle influence.'

A long, awkward silence fell over the room.

'That… That actually makes sense,' Hermione mumbled. 'Even though it's barbaric and immoral.'

'Hermione, dear,' said her mother uneasily. 'Perhaps you could introduce us?'

She felt her cheeks heat up, realizing that she'd brought Malfoy to her parents' house without so much as telling them who he was.

'Mum, Dad… This is Draco Malfoy. Draco, my parents: Mark and Yvonne Granger.'

'Pleasure,' Malfoy drawled, almost haughtily, but Hermione saw him fidget nervously with the broom that he still held in his hands, and he looked so endearingly out of place in this Muggle living room that Hermione couldn't help but smile at him in a strange surge of affection.

'He's the one who made me come here today,' she said softly.

'Ah!' her mother cried. 'It's nice to meet you, Draco! Where are my manners? Please sit down!'

Malfoy lowered himself stiffly into an armchair. An awkward silence followed.

'Right,' said Hermione's father with a pinch to his nose. 'If you don't mind me asking… How long can you stay?'

'Oh, only a couple of hours. We have to be back by morning…' Hermione replied, her tone apologetic. 'It was actually a spur of a moment decision to come here…'

'Hmm,' her father lifted his eyebrow and shot a quick glance at Draco, and then exchanged looks with his wife. 'Then why don't we start with a nice cup of strong tea to wake us up? Then we can have a real talk, if you don't mind.'

'No, I don't mind,' Hermione exhaled in relief. 'I think it's long overdue.'

Her mother clapped her hands on her thighs and stood up.

'Right then! I'll put the kettle on, and maybe throw something quick for breakfast. Hermione, be a dear and help me out, won't you?'

Alarmed, Hermione immediately locked eyes with Malfoy, who quickly hid his panic behind a curtain of haughty indifference. She was about to leave him alone in a room with a Muggle – her father, no less! – and she knew that the experience would be at the very least unpleasant and awkward for both parties, but she couldn't think her way out of this situation in her present state of exhaustion and emotional distress. She tried to infuse her stare with a pleading message, but as she herself was not quite sure what she was asking for, she doubted that Malfoy would understand her. The flicker of a frown she saw cross his brow as she left the room assured her that the message – whatever it was, whether a plea to behave or an apology for her father – had not been conveyed properly. Feeling her insides twist with dread, she followed her mother into the kitchen.

'Would you butter up that bread? Let's make some sandwiches,' said Yvonne, busying herself with filling the pot with water. Hermione set about preparing the food, thankful for the distraction, but she couldn't help but steal a glance at the doorway every now and then, even though the only thing she could get from what was happening in the living room were muffled voices.

For several long moments the two of them worked side by side in silence, falling into an old routine, and Hermione felt herself slowly unwind. She listened to the soft hiss of the gas cooker and watched her mother slice a cucumber into thin slivers, before putting them on the ham and cheese sandwiches she'd prepared and arranged on a plate. The domestic simplicity of her surroundings made her chest tighten with sudden emotion. She tried to reign it in, but a sniffle gave her away. Her mother shot her a careful glance, and when she saw the tears leaking from her eyes, her face crumpled into a frown.

'Oh, love,' she choked, before gathering her into her arms. 'I'm so sorry… We were so angry and confused and we'd never thought you'd just leave… Oh, I'd thought I would never see you again, we didn't know how to contact you… You're so far away from us in that world… and now we're even on a different continent! This last month, oh, it's been a nightmare… I can't begin to imagine what you must have felt…'

'It's not your fault,' Hermione said shakily. 'It's mine. I should have told you… But you would have stopped me and I had to, Mum, I just had to… You had no idea what it was like… I had to help Harry stop You-Know-Who, I had to…'

'Hush,' said Yvonne, tightening the embrace. 'Hush now, we're going to talk about all of that in a moment, all right?'

Hermione nodded into her shoulder.

'But now, before we go back there, I need to know who's that young man that you brought here with you.'

She stiffened, before extracting herself from her mother's arms and stepping away. 'He's… uh. He's a…' she managed to say when she was suddenly struck with a realization that she didn't know how to continue. He was… what? What was Malfoy to her?

Her mother's eyebrows rose in tandem. 'Oh. Well, that's a bit of a surprise. I thought you'd fancied Ron, myself. Your Dad was dead sure on Harry, but a mother always knows… But… Oh, God. Oh, good Lord, has something happened to them?'

Hermione blinked, at a loss for words. 'Wh – He's n – No! No, Harry and Ron are fine, they're great, they're alive!'

Yvonne deflated in relief. 'Oh, good. Great… _Don't_ scare me like that!'

Hermione stared at her wildly, still trying to process her implications.

'So… who is this boy, then? I don't think I've ever heard about him before.'

'Yes, you have, you must have, I remember telling you about him,' Hermione said, latching onto something she could reasonably counter. Because the other – thing – was just too…

'You did?'

'Yes. Draco Malfoy, from Slytherin? Harry and Ron had a bit of a feud with him at school… Well, not a bit. A lot. And me, too. I think. But then the war happened and… No, not much has changed really, only it has. He's saved our lives, sort of – well, at least helped delay our captors… kind of. And then Harry saved him from the Fiendyfire, and his mother lied to You Know Who about Harry being dead, but now his father is in Azkaban and his mother is in house arrest and he's doing community work rebuilding Hogwarts… And I… I needed a place to study, so I started coming round to his tent and he's really quite nice once you get to know him, well, not nice, but not horrible as he used to be, and…'

She trailed off, noticing her mother's horrified expression. She swallowed, going over what she'd just blurted out, and felt the blood draining from her cheeks. She'd just brought a war criminal into her parents' home. Without even thinking about it.

_She'd left her father alone with an armed Death Eater._

A wave of soul-shattering panic hit her, only to be washed away by an even more sudden – and completely irrational – realization that it was _Draco Malfoy_ and that's why it was all right. Because he wasn't going to hurt them. He wasn't. She knew that.

She trusted him.

She gasped out a short laugh.

She trusted Draco Malfoy.

Which was ridiculous and she had to be insane, because there were no valid reasons for it, but…

She really did trust him.

'Hermione…' her mother ventured, her voice unsteady. 'You were… captured?'

'Captured…? Oh, yeah. But we escaped. I'll tell you about it later. Let's go back and we can talk, okay?' she knew she must have sounded a bit manic, but she couldn't help it. Her hands were shaking, but her heart was calm. She trusted Draco Malfoy. On paper, it sounded absolutely ridiculous, but in fact, it seemed oddly right. The sky was blue, the Earth revolved around the Sun, and Hermione Granger trusted Draco Malfoy.

The universe had never been stranger.

* * *

Draco shifted in his seat, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably, if Mr. Granger's intense stare was any indication. The older man regarded him with curiosity laced with a touch of steel.

'So, Draco,' he said eventually. 'How did you and Hermione meet? Can't say I've heard about you before.'

Draco's eyebrows rose in surprise. 'We know each other from school,' he answered truthfully, and then added, hoping for diplomacy, 'We've never been part of the same… circle of friends… though.'

'Oh, so you aren't a Gryffindor, then? A Ravenclaw?'

'No, sir. A Slytherin.'

The way Mr. Granger's expression shuttered closed gave Draco all the answers regarding what Granger had been telling her parents about his House. He frowned, drawing back defensively.

'Really?' the older man remarked with an air of polite surprise. 'How interesting. I thought Gryffindor and Slytherin were at odds with each other. Glad to see that people are still able to see past a petty school feud these days.'

_A petty school feud?_ This man obviously had no idea of Draco's involvement in the war. A cold shiver ran down his spine. How would he react if he ever found out that his daughter had been tortured by Draco's aunt? At his own ancestral home? He really didn't want to imagine it.

'Well, Draco, you must indulge me, then. How did the two of you get together? I'm sorry for being nosy, but I'm sure you can understand where I'm coming from, really. I would like to know a bit more about you.'

Draco's mind stuttered to a stop.

_What?_

He stared blankly at the older man, noticing his pleasant smile and slightly lifted eyebrows, but unable to make the necessary connections between the facts.

Was he really…?

He couldn't possibly think….

He could. He _was_. He thought he and Granger were… Were what?

But of course, moron, he admonished himself, you've come with her across the globe to see her parents. What _else_ was the man supposed to think?

He started shaking his head no, but then Mr. Granger spoke up again. Obviously his expressions had been evocative.

'Oh. You aren't together? I'm sorry, I just assumed…'

'No. No, we're not… Granger and I… we're not…'

The man frowned. 'Right. Sorry. Seems like I put my foot in it, didn't I?'

'It's… fine,' he cleared his throat. 'I'm sure seeing me here with your daughter looks very strange.'

'It does, indeed. I wasn't aware she had any friends outside of Harry and Ron, to be honest…'

Draco blinked again. 'I'm not…' He wasn't… what? 'We're not…' They weren't what? He coughed, then licked his lips, and finally gathered himself enough to string together a full sentence. 'I just helped her make a decision. I have no idea why I brought myself along, really.'

'I… see,' said Mr. Granger. 'Then thank you. We didn't know how to contact her. No one to tell us anything about the Wizarding community over here in Australia, so we couldn't very well hire an owl.'

As he listened to the man speak, Draco was thrown by the fact that what he was feeling at the moment could only be described as compassion. It was easy to be against Muggles and Muggleborns if one didn't actually interact with them. But here in front of him was an actual person, a man, a father, who couldn't even keep in touch with his daughter because he didn't know how, because no one had ever told him that he didn't need an owl for a letter to reach Hogwarts. It was easy to assume that it was because this man was not intelligent enough to work that out for himself, that he was beneath them, that he was simply an uncaring idiot, but it wasn't true. None of it was true. There were people hired to ensure that he didn't work things like that out. To ensure that he lost contact with his little girl. And this was more cruel than anything else. Because, in the end, family was all one had.

'You don't need an owl to send a letter, you know,' he found himself saying, eyes straying away from the man's face, focusing on the coffee table instead. 'There is a system – well, a notification charm – that alerts the Ministry of Magic whenever there's a letter addressed to a magical location in the Muggle post.'

Draco could hear the rustle of the man's dressing gown as he leaned forward in his chair. 'Really?'

'Yes. The letters are found, segregated in the Department of Magical Communication, and then delivered by owl.'

Mr. Granger gave a short, humourless laugh. 'Well. Would have been nice knowing that earlier.'

Draco grimaced, but didn't answer.

'You are very knowledgeable about this sort of thing.'

Draco shrugged. 'I'm a Pureblood. I've known these things all my life.'

'Oh,' said Mr. Granger, then lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. 'Then… Are you like the Weasleys, then? You don't have a problem with us Muggles? Because Hermione told us about this other family, the Malloys, I think they're called, and they – '

The sudden catch in his voice, coupled with Draco's equally sharp intake of air, drove the two of them into locking eyes. The realization and dismay he saw in the older man's face was like a terrible blow to the gut. Draco felt churning dread burning a hole in his chest. It was an awful feeling. It was… shame.

'Well,' Mr. Granger managed to say. 'Well.'

Draco didn't answer. Even if he wanted to, he had no idea how.

'So… you're the boy – you're the bully who harassed my girl and her friends.'

He looked away. Suddenly there was nothing he could be proud of. He felt his neck heat up.

'But…' Mr. Granger's voice lost the neutral inflection and turned incredulous. 'If you're who I think you are… Then how… What are you doing here? I don't understand.'

Draco knew that he had to find his voice quickly, so he cleared his throat and braved a look at the other man. What he saw made him pause. He wasn't furious. He wasn't judging. He was… speculative.

'War… changes things,' he rasped eventually.

Silence fell between them, but it wasn't what he'd expected. Mr. Granger didn't rage, neither did he look at him with accusations. Instead, he was quiet, and thoughtful, and somehow, that made Draco even more unsettled.

It was into that strange silence that Hermione and her mother decided to enter, carrying trays with tea and breakfast.

And then something else happened.

Granger set her tray on the coffee table and when she straightened herself, her eyes strayed to him.

The warm smile that bloomed on her lips left him breathless.

* * *

Recounting the war took – with some careful omissions – more or less five hours. Hermione didn't dare go into details about several key points of the story. She didn't elaborate on her, Harry and Ron's time on the run, neither did she mention her torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, and she also glossed over some aspects of the final battle at Hogwarts. She knew her parents weren't ready yet to hear everything she had to say. Their horrified expressions spoke volumes about what they thought of their daughter running around as a fugitive. She really didn't need to scare them even further. She would tell them eventually, but the truce they had established was still too new. Some things would have to wait.

The journey through the truth was extremely emotional. Tears fell freely from Hermione's eyes and there were times when she couldn't bring herself to continue. During those moments, unexpectedly, Draco would take over, providing a concise, carefully worded narrative of the events until she composed herself enough to speak again. At first she'd been surprised, but then she would just glance at him and he would start talking without a second's pause. It was reassuring and comforting and she couldn't help but thank whatever deity had made her agree to this entire mad, impossible situation.

Her parents, despite their obvious horror, were taking it all fairly well. Perhaps they were still in shock. Some things would take time to internalize. Perhaps they just didn't fully realize what the war truly meant. That she'd been close to death at least a dozen times. A hairsbreadth away. She really didn't want to be there once the idea actually dawned on them.

The hours passed almost without them noticing, and soon it was almost noon.

'Excuse me,' Draco spoke up politely, glancing at the clock at the mantelpiece. 'But we really need to go.'

'Oh!' cried Hermione, 'Right. Of course. Are you working today?'

'Of course,' he said pointedly.

'But it's Sunday!' Yvonne protested in surprise.

Draco snorted. 'No rest for the wicked,' he blurted out, and then caught himself when the words caused an awkward silence. 'Right, well. I – '

'Let's go then!' Hermione said quickly, standing up. She then turned to her parents. 'I'll come back next week, is that all right?'

Yvonne's face crumpled again, but it was Mark who answered, 'Of course, dear. We'll be waiting.'

Feeling wobbly once again, Hermione fell into their embrace and hugged them with all her might. 'I'm sorry… For everything. I'm so sorry…'

'It's all right,' her mother murmured, caressing her hair. 'We'll work it out somehow. It'll be fine.'

'Well, then. Till next week,' Mark cleared his throat. 'And Draco…' He looked over at the younger man and held out his hand. 'Thank you for helping her make a decision.'

Malfoy appeared startled. There was a flush rising up his neck when he reached out and grasped her father hand in a firm shake.

'It was nice to meet you, Mr. Granger.'

'Likewise, Mr. Malfoy. Oh, and it's Dr Granger, actually.'

Draco blinked. 'Doctor?'

'Yes. Didn't Hermione tell you? We're both dentists,' said Yvonne, smiling, as she crossed the room only to draw him into a loose embrace. Hermione saw Draco's eyes grow huge and the blush from his neck travel up to his cheeks. The sight made her warm inside.

'Right,' she said once the goodbyes were made. 'Shall I meet you outside the gates?'

Draco's gaze snapped to her and several expression crossed his face, before he shook his head. 'You're extremely emotional, Granger,' he drawled haughtily. 'You're going to splinch yourself.'

She frowned. 'What? Of course I won't, I Apparated under greater stress, I'll be fi – '

But before she knew it, Malfoy rolled his eyes, grabbed her hand and yanked her away through space back into the crisp air of an early Scottish morning.

She landed with an indignant yelp, and she would have fallen onto the grass had it not been for the tightening of Malfoy's bony fingers around her hand.

'What _was_ that?' she cried. 'I was perfectly capable of Apparating myself!'

'Well, sorry if I don't believe you. I did spent six hours watching you snivel and leave snot all over your clothes.'

'I did not _snivel_!'

'Yes, you did. I sure hope you've cried yourself dry, because if I see another tear out of your eye, I think I'm going to strangle you.'

'Oh, just shut up, will you!' she bristled angrily. 'I had good reason!'

'Oh, so now you're admitting it, aren't you – '

'Draco!'

He fell silent, and his eyes shifted awkwardly away and at this moment she understood. Her annoyance left her in a flash. The strange warmth she'd felt when she first realized that she trusted him filled her now and she felt herself smile.

'Draco,' she said softly.

'What?'

And then she simply came up to him and put her arms around him in a hug. 'Thank you.'

He was taller than her, but not as tall as Ron, so her head rested on his shoulder instead of against his chest, and it was – different – and a bit uncomfortable, because he was stiff as a board. Embarrassment crept up her cheeks in the form of a blush and she stepped away, avoiding his eyes.

'Right,' she coughed. 'Let's go back, shall we?'

He didn't speak as he mechanically mounted his broom, and she was equally silent as she settled herself behind him.

This time, when he kicked them off the ground, she didn't cling to his robes.

He wouldn't let her fall.


End file.
